by Betsy Shaw posted in Parenting

Life would be soooo much easier if my husband could just read my mind.
I mean, after spending the past 20 years together, 16 of them raising children and engaging in the relentlessly logistical calculations required to get ourselves and those kids from point A to point B on any given day, who has the patience to communicate their own needs clearly to their spouse"
Obviously not me.
In the beginning, talking wasn't a priority. We just snogged. With time, the physical affection became a bit less urgent, and we spent more time engaging in idealistic "pillow" talk. We talked about our future, where we'd like to travel, where we should live and how many kids we might consider having and when.
We talked about how gorgeous and brilliant those kids would be.
Then I got pregnant.
Soon all talk devolved into me muttering complaints and my husband trying his best not to do anything to trigger my nausea, such as breathing. Yet still, we managed to maintain a semblance of communication, some spoken, some not.
We had a higher purpose. A baby was coming.
Then baby number one arrived and we didn't so much talk to each other as we talked at each other. Our worlds and conversations revolved around the miraculous creature in our home. Feeding, admiring, changing diapers. Ian didn't need to be asked to pick up more diapers, or bring me frequent glasses of water, or help me adjust the Boppy pillow. He just read my mind. Or so I thought.
We mar...