Our "talk to me" fight raises its ugly head every once in a while. And to avoid being tuned out by my husband, I have even resorted to sending an email to his office to get his attention. Here is the letter. I got taken out for lunch after I sent it to him, I got the attention I craved- for a week. And if, like so many other women, you find yourself nodding your head and saying ditto, do make the words your own. May you find yourself a longer attention span than I could manage...
Dear Husband,
Let me bop you on the head and remind you I exist.
Yes, it was a while ago that I used to get five calls at the office. And the times when we used to gossip about our day at work, our family, and dreamed dreams together. We talked about where we can go on sundays, what are the new restaurants and who can we call home for dinner.
Sure, there was excitement in setting up home together. Fun in choosing drapes, in setting up the kitchen, in finding the money and the right designs for the new furniture.
We could go any place, including where children below 18 years are not allowed.
Agreed, it has been five years, twenty kgs and two babies ago.
But, let me ask you to call home once in a while to talk to me. Instead of calling a friend to discuss something that has caught your attention. Instead of calling home to find out what your daughter has to say about her school picnic. And whether your son has had his hair cut. Or to merely let me know whether you will be home for lunch, or not home for dinner.
Let me remind you there are still dreams to be dreamt, holiday destinations unexplored, and new restaurants to check out. And there are conversations to be made beyond commercial break time and beyond whether I should heat up dinner.
Yes, now it is the kids that mob you as you walk in through the door. But let me remind you that they are not yet so big that you can't greet me over their heads. Let me remind you that soon the kids WILL be too big and then there will be only me.
No, I am not asking you to get out the candles and the roses out to romance me. Your children will choose that moment to ask you to feed them/ change them/ swing them up in the air/ sit on your lap/ switch on the cartoon channel.
I know you care; you show it to me in many little ways and a few big ways too. But do, once a day, TELL me that I am more than ayah, housekeeper, teacher, doctor, laundrywalla, dinner-heater and mother.
With love,
Your flat mate
A.K.A Your Wife
P.S.- see, I haven't even mentioned TV...
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