I love my nephews. I cannot put into words how much. In some way they are absolute therapy and respite from where we are - at the same time they are a painful reminder of how long we have been on this road and just how much we are missing out on. But nevertheless I love them so much I could genuinely burst. Eldest nephew has just turned five, he was a bump on our wedding day (hence the reminder of time passed), and littlest nephew was two a couple of months ago. It was the announcement of his imminent arrival (here) that I found very very painful but since he arrived in the world he has brought nothing but joy to both of us. Well, eventually. For the first six months of his life he absolutely screamed when he saw hubby - his glasses and beard absolutely alien to him in his world of clean shaven, non-spectacled men. But since then all has been lovely!
The older they have got the more affectionate they are towards us. And when they finally start to say our names (mine tends to come first, in whatever variation they attempt, as it's an easier name to say than hubby's) our hearts melt. Saturday was prime example of this as littlest nephew has just started to say his own version of my name. There's a severe lack of consonants in what he's calling me, but he knows exactly what he means and so do I. Both boys love the beach, they collect stones and throw them into the sea - running away squealing with excitement when the waves gets just slightly too close to them. For whatever reason there seemed to be a lot of dunes (are they still called dunes on a stony beach?!) and so littlest nephew needed some help going up and down them to get to the sea, he took my hand to do so. Babbling away to me, we made it to the waves and started to throw stones and squeal at the waves. Well, he squealed! I just watched him adoringly.
Eventually he got bored with this and started running around and barging into/hugging us all, so I took a step back and sat on the beach. He saw me and decided to play a game since I was sat at the top of a 'dune'. He would run up and throw his arms around me, nuzzle his head into my neck and giggle. He'd then run down the 'dune', turn around and start again. All of which just made my heart melt. This lasted a surprising amount of time before he got bored and went to find more stones to throw into the sea. So I was just left staring at the waves.
Water has always fascinated me. I'm not entirely sure why, I have a friend who reckons it's down to my star sign but who knows quite frankly. I was born in a seaside town but we moved away when I was 18 months old and didn't actually live on the coast itself. In my early 20s I lived right next to the river in a city for 18 months and absolutely loved it. I would spend days sitting on the balcony staring out at it. Randomly, I've been happiest since living in places that are near water. The river in our current city is one of my favourite places to be. It is where I always head to when I need to be at peace, need some time to think. I can just stare at it forever. It is calming, peaceful. Almost like it centres me and all is right with the world again.
Sitting on this beach I was hit with a veritable tsunami of emotions (excuse the watery pun!) and it was all I could do to hold it together whilst surrounded by family. They don't know about our current situation (here) and it was not the time nor the place to start explaining myself to them. So I did everything I could to hold myself together. No one commented so either they were too involved with the boys or I did a cracking job. Either that or it was noticed and 'saved' for another conversation another time. I sincerely hope it was the former.
And then we had Sunday. Hubby had been working a late shift on Saturday hence only joining us for a cuppa first thing and not coming down to the coast, he was then on a nightshift Sunday into Monday. So, as usual, when he got in Saturday night he stayed up until around 2am then came to bed - got up when his alarm went off at 9am and then went back to bed mid-afternoon ready to leave for the nightshift at around 8.30pm.
The trouble was, I spent the vast majority of Sunday feeling 'erotically charged' as Rachel from Friends would call it. Or 'horny' as Joey would say*. And all I wanted was, well, sex! Much as I tried to initiate things hubby was just not interested. Three times I attempted, three times I failed. He commented later, as he was getting ready to leave for work, that I was quiet and I explained why. He apologised and said he was just too tired. I genuinely believe this, but I also think that there are more factors at play here. There are times when it really does feel like we are just flatmates and, my feelings aside, Sunday was one of those days. There is also the possibility that he could have been thinking about the pressure on him when we do have sex - he'll be thinking whether we're in the window or not and therefore what has to happen rather than just fooling around.
I wasn't in the window at the weekend, I won't be for another week, I was just horny. But if that is what is always on his mind whenever I come on to him then we have another hurdle to clear before we can get our sex life back on track. I honestly believe that he was tired however, and when I did explain how I'd been feeling he seemed genuinely sorry. So there is still hope. Despite the fact I sit here typing this with nothing but the feeling of frustration.
*sorry! I happened across this Friends episode yesterday and watched it :D
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