Confidence Jar

Love After Babies • Exhale Feb XXIII Blog Hop

I’m an indecisive person. Did I choose the right career? Do I want to buy this dresser or that dresser or maybe even no dresser at all (even though I’ve spent hours trying to find the best one for our family)? Do I want to focus on illustration or videography? Or writing or photography or… The list goes on.

If everyone had a Confidence Jar filled with little pieces of paper storing confident answers to questions one’s had, I know mine would not be very full. 

But I also know there are definitely at least two notes in my jar. These two decisions were easy for me to be sure of, and they are two of the best decisions I’ve made in life. The first paper would read “Yes, marry this guy now!” and the second would read “Yes, start trying for your first baby now!”

It’s evening after a long day of work for both my husband and myself. I’ve been seeing patients as a full-time dentist at a not-for-profit community clinic, and he’s been teaching undergraduate students and working on his research as a Statistics PhD student. We’ve finished eating dinner, and I’m in the kitchen doing dishes while he’s reading a book to our 17-month-old daughter before I put her to sleep. His familiar voice is in the background. The water is running and the dishes are clacking.

His words begin mumbling. They get less and less coherent like he’s reaching out from a far off island and sending a cryptic message. I peer over the counter. “Bananas… and then… he… moo…”

This moment is so sweet. Let me savor it. My eyes save the image of his drooping eyelids and whispering lips as my hands keep moving. But the longer I think about it, it’s not just sweet—it’s hilarious. I let out a giggle. He wakes up and meets my eyes with a sheepish smile. I try to retell the scene from my point of view, and I’m not able to finish because the joy snowballs bigger and bigger. I can’t stop laughing. My husband joins in and so does our daughter. I have tears in my eyes and still we chortle and cackle some more.

I’m a person with many questions.

In the beginning of our marriage I used to ask questions to my husband like “Do you like me with short hair or long hair? Do you like skinny me or curvy me? Makeup or no makeup?” It almost became a game to try to get him to admit his preferences because each time he would say I look great with both and that he loves me either way. After the moment of probing him (“Really? You don’t prefer one more?”) would come a quiet moment to myself. The disgruntled feeling of no real answer would melt away and be replaced with the warm realization that his answer simply and truly was that he loved me either way.

Since graduating dental school last year and starting work I have often asked, “Are you really okay if I stop working and become a stay-at-home mom even if it’s before I pay all my school loans off? Is x amount of outstanding loans really alright? It’s a big number… Should I keep working full-time or part-time for a little longer? But then can we can have another baby now or should we wait? If we have the choice, should we move to Dallas to be with your parents or Northern Virginia to be with my parents after you graduate?” These are a lot of big questions tumbling around in my mind, but my husband’s answers are steady. He thinks a little and then sincerely and warmly says, “I’m okay either way.”

“Really?” “Really.”

Our new dresser arrived today. We’ve been making do without one for the past three (almost four) years of our marriage, and we finally indulged in pressing the buy button. I almost backed out after wasting a lot of time “doing research,” but my husband wisely put his foot down and put an end to the misuse, “We are buying this one.” It’s a two-by-three-drawer, wooden dresser, so we can both have our own column for clothes.

The piece of furniture came in a huge, heavy-looking box. Unfortunately the delivery people didn’t deliver it to our door—we forgot to consider that we are renting a third floor apartment—so it’s sitting alone on the hard concrete at the bottom of the building.

My husband makes a quick dinner while I mollify our impatient daughter with strawberries. (It works—hooray!) He and I each take one bite of our pasta before remembering we still left the dresser outside. We leave our daughter happy with food and music and speed downstairs to bring it into our home, but I feel uneasy the moment I put some strength into my body to get my fingers under the box. I’m struggling. It’s an “uh oh” moment as my daughter might say.

My husband is on the bottom bearing a majority of the weight as we start the straining hike up the first flight of stairs. My side of the teetering seesaw is unstable as I will my fumbling feet up one stair at a time. “We can stop. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” my husband grunts. Midway through the first flight I squeak out, “Okay, let’s stop at the top here.” I have no choice but to admit my limit. I think I might actually get hurt trying to pull off this feat.

We decide to unpack the box outdoors on the second floor and bring in the not-yet-assembled pieces separately. “Go finish eating,” he reassures me. “I’m okay,” I reply. “I don’t want our daughter to be alone for too long,” he reminds me. “That’s true,” I concede. I head in and give our chirpy daughter seconds. Our pasta is lukewarm.

We eventually successfully bring all the parts in with my husband doing most of the lifting and me popping out to check in on him to help with a few light pieces. He then finishes the trek to throw the outside box away in the apartment complex dumpster while I microwave our food. Originally we had less than an hour together before he would have to go to his office hours, but now there are less than 20 minutes for him to eat his food, shower, and be ready to teach.

I’ve always been open about wanting to have another baby soon and wanting to stay home with our children. But ever since I started working there has not been much room to breathe due to our daughter starting daycare and bringing home the bugs. There are also critical questions about what another baby would mean for my dental school loans, my new job, our childcare, and our budgeting. (Ultimately it seems like it all comes back to finances.) Oh, and I still hadn’t had my period yet.

Novembers feel meaningful to me because November was the time of year when we first started intentionally praying and trying to have our first. So last November my desire to have another baby pushed through the doubt and came knocking on the doors. I asked my husband what he thought about having our second baby soon. I had butterflies in my stomach. This conversation was more serious—not just about an idea far off in the future. His response caught me off guard. He was open and excited!

Despite all our uncertainties, it felt like we’d been getting the hang of things with a bit more healthy rhythm and stability in life, and in January of this year it was like my body also knew we were ready. I finally had my period 2 years and 2 months after my last one and 16 months after our daughter was born.

Before we became a family of three, “nine months later” seemed to be such a long time away. But now I find it funny: it’s possible to go from having one child and being undecided about having another one to making a decision, cooking up a full baby in the womb, and having two children in the world God-willing—and this could all still be the same calendar year with some time to spare before Christmas.

I wake up. My love is either already at work or getting ready to leave me with a kiss—and a toddler needing a lot of attention. I wash our daughter’s milk and water bottles. I pack her bag. Change her diaper. Get her dressed. Strap her into the car seat. Drive 30 minutes to daycare. Put on sunglasses because the sun’s in my eyes. Drop her off. Drive to the university parking lot. Wait for the bus. Take the bus. Walk to the Statistics Department building. It’s already 9:30am. I work on research. Teach undergraduate students. Work some more. It’s 3:30pm already, and if I want to get a work out in before I pick up my daughter, I have to wrap things up now. I go play some basketball. Squeeze in another game because showering can wait. I sprint to the bus stop. I’m sweaty. I just missed the bus and wait for the next one. I drive to pick my daughter up. Drive 30 minutes back home with a crying baby and the setting sun in my eyes. Time to make dinner. Time to read to our daughter. I really should do some more work, but it’s dark and I’m tired. Where’s the time gone? The day feels so short.

Today for the first time I really think about a detailed day in the life—from my husband’s perspective. This is his day, and it is busy.

Unlike me who often seeks out opportunities to write, to talk, to share about my life, my husband is more of a private person. He rarely complains, and he works without seeking recognition. It’s easy for me to forget all he is doing. It just so happens that today I was thinking about how much he is doing in a day, and then within the hour he tells me, “The day feels so short.” I feel like this statement is a little rumbling tremor telling me to pay attention.

The day before Valentine’s Day is a Monday this year, which means I am off work and at home with our daughter. I cook a new dinner menu for us; this is a rare occasion. I message my husband to see when he will be coming home, but he misses my text and call. He calls back to leave a voice message, which I note is unusual. I listen to his recorded voice as he tells me his estimated arrival time. I wonder if his voice has always been this tender but think maybe it’s because I don’t hear voicemails from him that often.

He walks in the door and is surprised by the welcoming, delicious aroma of 닭죽 (dak-jook), Korean chicken porridge. Then it’s my turn to be surprised as he hands me a bouquet of pink roses. We can’t wipe the grins off our faces, and we hug. It’s a fermata, a held moment in time. Our daughter slides between our legs to join in.

If everyone had a Confidence Jar filled with little pieces of paper storing confident answers to questions one’s had, I know mine would not be very full. But ever since I’ve committed to being partners with my husband, he fills my Confidence Jar. Some days he writes and puts a piece of paper in it himself with his confident answer for me to follow, but most days he enables me to write and put the note in myself. He listens, he responds, he listens some more, and he gives me time. Confidence doesn’t have to be fast but confidence is steady. My husband is steady. The future is uncertain, some answers will take a while to write down, and we may not have everything together, but, still, he gives me security and confidence.

And for the first time I wonder: What can I do to help fill my husband’s Confidence Jar?

For today, I dedicate this essay to my husband.

P.S. James, I love you!

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Love After Babies".