A Wife and a Mom, But Still a Woman
If you want to witness Jessie and I get into a sour and ugly argument, watch the movie “Eyes Wide Shut” with us. We watched it together a few months ago and all we did the entire time was discuss/bicker about the underlying main plot of the movie. No, the main plot has very little to do with that weird upper class sex club. The plot has everything to do with Tom Cruise’s character’s reality about his wife’s identity crashing and burning after her revealing to him an intense desire to be with another man.
In his little bubble-reality, he can acknowledge that he has desires for other women. He can also acknowledge that other men might desire his lovely wife. But at no point did it ever occur to him that his wife might actually desire another man, and leave him for that man. He knows his wife is beautiful and that she is smart and interesting. He sees her as a sexual creature, but only with himself. In the course of their long term relationship, he has gone from seeing her as a complex woman with wants and desires to a wife and mother. To him, the acts of being a wife and mother suffocated the natural human desires in the woman.
It turns out that he was wrong, and he spends the rest of the movie trying to deal with that by seeking the sexual company of another woman and failing miserably.
I know that Jessie sometimes forgets that I’m more than a wife, cook, house cleaner and mother. I can’t say that I blame him sometimes. When he gets home from work, he’s greeted by a tired person whose hair is pulled back in a bun and is wearing comfortable but hideous clothes. I can’t look sexy when I’m in the bedroom watching Adult Swim and folding his underwear. I can’t look sexy when I’m covered in splatters of spaghetti sauce and on my hands and knees wiping up a milk mess from the floor. But just because I don’t look it doesn’t mean that I don’t wish for it and wish to seek it out.
I stay home all day and use my time in running a house and raising our son (soon to be two sons). I take care of groceries, meals, laundry, house cleaning, child rearing, and usually bills. I also serve as a conversationalist to my husband and his number one supporter. I sit and listen to the details of his day and involve myself in those details so as to stay current in our conversations. And sometimes it all bores me to death.
I still have dreams for myself. I have wants. I have desires. I’ve been in the presence of other men and been extremely uncomfortable because of my attraction to them. I’m committed in my relationship, but damn it, I’m still a woman with warm blood pumping through my veins. Don’t forget that about me.
The worst part about all of this is when I, myself, forget this about myself. I forget that I’m more than just Momma and Jessie’s wife. I’m more than just the person fretting over what to make for dinner that night. I’m more than the person who takes pride in the fact that I’ve found the perfect combination of laundry detergent and fabric softener that makes my towels smell like heaven. It’s always in times of desperation and frustration that I remember, usually when I’m upset that someone else has forgotten. That’s a damned shame, but in the drudgery of day to day life, an inevitability.
So when you see me kissing one of my kids or holding hands with my husband, please remember that there’s more to me. There’s so much swimming beneath. I’m still complex, I’m still human. Yes, I’m a wife and mother, but I’m also still just a woman.
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By Emily A