Some part of me is always the caretaker. From my teen years, being told I acted like a mother, or later being referred to as the mom of a group, I like taking care of people. It’s both one of my best and worst personality traits.

It’s my first instance to have to take care of the husband. He had some basic oral surgery, but I was smothering him a bit. I haven’t experienced him being sick much, he has had one cold since we met and didn’t act in the typical “man cold” kind of way. He is very self-sufficient, which I appreciate; but I can’t get him anything, make him anything, he’ll do it himself. I get the playful chastising that I’m not his mom, he’s not a child.

I get my feelings slightly hurt. I know he doesn’t need it, but I often feel like I need an outlet for that kind of nurturing. My niece and nephews are 2000 miles away. I have no dealings with children in my life, otherwise. A handful of times a year, we see his niece, but we’re unfortunately not very close with her either.

I have not made a lot of friends since relocating here and none who have littles. I don’t always know where to go with my energy. When I travel home, I try to put it into my parents and my sister’s kids – who get to test out my fun limits. I think I should find a way to incorporate time into my life – volunteering or something, but I talk myself out of it because I worry as a childless woman that I may be seen as a threat, or as not capable enough.

It’s a funny feeling when you’re so sensitive that it occasionally hurts to be around babies and children, but that also, it may be the salve that heals your heart.