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Putting Self on the Shelf: When Marriage Isn’t All About Me

by Cindi McMenamin
Co-Author, When Couples Walk Together

I remember the day marriage finally made sense to me. I was flying to a speaking engagement and complaining to God in prayer.

God, you knew what I was like and what I would need in a husband. So are You sure You knew what You were doing when You led me to Hugh?

I was convinced God brought the two of us together. I knew He was in it from the day I met Hugh. But certainly God knew that my husband would not be one to express himself verbally in the way I was expecting. Certainly God knew that I would many times need more, emotionally, than my husband appeared able to give. So why did God let it happen? And why wasn’t He transforming my husband so he would be the kind of man to meet my needs and expectations?

Two for Love

Waiting at a red light, I start to think about her and wonder if she is thinking of me. Here we are, two women, not all that different, yet a world a part. We’ve both had our share of moments; moments in triumph, in shame, joy, melancholy. The sum of those moments has brought us to the state we find ourselves in today. Now we travel from our separate lives to meet at the same place, at the same time for one purpose: love, the love for two wonderful little boys.

As I pull into the parking lot of Child and Family Services, I spot her bleach blonde pony tail. She quickly puts out her cigarette and goes inside. At 5-foot-10 I rarely meet women who are taller than me. She just happens to be one of them; a gentle reminder from God to be humble. The walk from the car inside is always surreal. The boys call out to her in their excitement and in that instance I lose my title as Mommy. Now I am simply Abby the Foster Mom. At this particular exchange I have pictures of the boys to give her. Certain song lyrics come to mind and give comfort: “I’ve got your picture, she’s got you.” How can she not be thinking that, I tell myself. She gets the boys 2 hours a week, I have them the other 166.

I’ve found that a parent training class lets out at the same time I arrive to pick up the boys. I stand at a distance from the door I know they’ll come through. For now there are plenty of folks wandering the halls to quietly gawk at. God it’s easy to judge these people. They’re not so different from you, I tell myself, as I smile politely. Then my smile grows more genuine when I see the boys make their way toward me. Good-byes are always hurried, probably to avoid awkwardness. There is a strange aura as the three of us go to my car, and she goes to her car. I wonder what she is feeling; here are these two wonderful boys whom she cared for from conception until 22 months of age. Now they’re with me. Does she fight the urge to run back for one more kiss and hug, is she holding back tears…or…not.

 The ride home has been pretty quiet lately, it’s hard to say exactly why. I try not to psychoanalyze the boys’ disposition. They usually liven up when we get home. Probably for the same reason any one cheers up—it’s home. I cheer up too with the resumption of my status as Mommy. For now, for the moment, everything returns to normal.