Being Mastered

It's a beautiful Saturday. Already I've gotten to see my mother, my nieces and nephews, and my best friend. Weekends are supposed to be the two days a week my husband, Anthony, tries to do fun things with our daughter and I get to sleep in. This was an idea our marriage therapist had so I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. Unfortunately, after the first couple of weekends my "me time" became forgotten. Now, a few months later, weekends have become even more overwhelming than before. Mostly because I was expecting to have my own hobbies, meet with my Poetry club, and sing at various events, but I end up having to back out because I can't get him to watch her. You see, I haven't done much of anything since Elise was born, other than the million things a day a mother does. And I love being a mother to my beautiful 2 and a half year old "Shadow". I can deny her nothing. But if my husband is here, I end up caring for him too. Only it's not really "caring" anymore. That ended a few years ago. It's following orders. Even as I sit here trying to find where I left my feelings, he is laying on the couch, masking his face, which he will then steam, work-out, dye his hair, and plan his weekend of skateboarding or whatever he's into now. I have suggestions for "family days", but they are quickly dismissed. They interrupt the plans he's made for himself. Would that I could paint my toenails, shop for new clothes, do something that was my idea. How I wish I had the time for any of those things. But to even tease myself with the idea that I have any form of freedom over myself is only setting myself up to be mad at the loss of the plans I'd looked forward too. Then I feel selfish for thinking of myself. How dare I make plans! Who am I to think my life is important or of any worth? I worry that I really can't be trusted to clean things myself, pick out the groceries, or my own clothes. I've forgotten how casually I treated those things before. How I took those small freedoms for granted. I am obviously using this page as a vent. There are moments when I feel like he may care for me. Even after 12 years of marriage I'm still unsure. But I live one day at a time. Loving my daughter with all my might, trying to think of new ways to get his attention that will inspire love in all of us. There ARE days of rose petals in the bed, and he treated me like gold through my whole pregnancy. That is a great accomplishment for most men, yet he passed that test with flying colors. I just pray that he doesn't forget what a blessing it is to have a family, and that we were very lucky to have a child at our age. We have a checkered past, but our present has forgotten that, and our future could outshine my highest hopes. If only this optomistic voice in my head could outshout the orders he's barking at me, even as I write this.