I was feeling guilty because there were multiple times that day when one or both children had caused me to think, "I really don't love you right now. I would like to give you away."
And then I would think, that's just so WRONG! Why and how could I possibly think that? Did I not take my anti-depressant last night? I did, I'm sure I did. So why do I feel this way?
And so I decided to talk all this over with Heavenly Father. And to repent. Because clearly I was doing something wrong.
The response I got from the spirit was not the one I expected. I expected to feel chastened and then get up and be better. I did not expect to be told that I was repenting for something I didn't truly do. The feeling was quiet, and subtle, but strong: You do love your children. You just don't love them in the same way that you used to, and that's okay.
That's okay.
Perhaps this conversation happened because I was jealous of a friend's testimony of the all-encompassing love of motherhood during Sacrament Meeting the day before. It was so obvious to me that she loved her baby. And I thought, I was that way once too, wasn't I? How come my daughter drives me bonkers now? Why can't I love her as much as I used to? And why do I suddenly run out of patience with my baby boy?
I finally figured it out, as I was pondering the Spirit's response to my prayer. It's true, I don't love my children the way that I used to, I still love them just as much, if not more. I just love them differently.
This didn't make a whole lot of sense to me until I realized that, once again, Heavenly Father has a plan, and when we figure little pieces of The Plan out, all of the sudden this life makes much more sense. As I finished my prayer, I looked at my husband, kneeling and running his hands through his hair like he does when he is concentrating on his personal prayers.
And I realized, I don't love him the same way that I once did. We started out as friends, a gentle kind of caring that gradually developed into an infatuation and obsession. I thought about him every minute of every day, checked my email obsessively until I saw that bolded "Scott Fowler" in my inbox, spent hours saying good-bye to him on the phone. We couldn't get enough of each other.
And then we got married.
And that all-consuming fascination changed. I won't say it went away, because it still pops up every once in a while (and I still constantly check my email hoping to see a message from him come through). I will say, however, that it developed into something both more and less. More comfortable, less consuming. More intricate, less intense. More dependence, less addiction.
In other words, sometimes I get fed up with him. Sometimes I need some space. Sometimes life isn't peachy-keen. Sometimes I have a hard time saying "I forgive you" and "I love you" on demand.
And sometimes, I get lost just looking at him because I could never have imagined loving and needing someone this much.
And then it clicks--this! this is why Heavenly Father intends for children to be born into a marriage between a man and a woman. Marriage is a training ground for parenthood. True, the relationship between husband and wife is very different than the one between a parent and child, but the love in these bonds grows in similar patterns.
First, there was a comfortable connection (morning sickness aside), a sense of potential between us. As my pregnancies developed, this grew into, yes, an infatuation with all things my baby. Once my babies were born, everything centered around their existence (this was the obsession phase). Everything about them was perfect, and their flaws went largely unseen (with only an occasional complaint about sleeping patterns. I had issues with Scott's snoring at first too). And then, without me even noticing it, I became so accustomed to their presence in my life, that my relationships with my children became comfortable. I now know who they are, although they change every day. I anticipate their reactions to every little and big situation, and they know what makes me tick. They put this knowledge to good use.
And sometimes, it is hard to say, "I love you" at all times.
And sometimes, I stare at them--usually while they are sleeping--and wonder at loving and caring for another person more than I love myself.
My love for my husband changes every day. And it doesn't just change, it grows. In all directions.
And so I am starting to understand that, perhaps, Heavenly Father is teaching us how to love each other first, so that we can love our children second.
In all directions.
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