When I got pregnant with my first, I knew my relationship with my husband would change.
It will get (even?) better, I thought. We’ll grow closer.
That was true, but I wasn’t prepared for all the other ways our relationship would change:
1) Sex, or the lack thereof
A friend recently told me she knew her boyfriend was going to break up with her because they went from “having sex four times a week to twice a week.” I wanted to spit out my coffee at this. You could replace “week” with “month” and she’d still be getting more than me.
I blame cosleeping in part. Also fatigue, mombod, and a lack of time for waxing.
On the bright side, we are much more cooperative now. We’ve reached a mutual, unspoken agreement that neither person turns the other down when the rare request is made. If you’re in a desert and you come across water, whether it’s a lush oasis or a sad, tired puddle on its way to evaporating, you don’t think twice. You drink the goddamn water.
2) That feeling you get when you realize your husband is a dad
This is a good feeling. When my husband actually puts down the iPad and really engages with Tiny Boss, and the two of them are happily playing with cars or wrestling on the floor, I think of what a good dad he’s being. There’s just that special feeling that passes over you when you see your child looking at your husband with pure adoration and joy. At times like that, I know we’re doing something right.
3) It’s easier to appreciate the little things
Like eating a meal together without a third wheel. Pre-baby, if we went on a dinner date, it was a special occasion. We would get dressed up and pick a restaurant we loved or wanted to try. Neither of us thought twice about driving to LA to get the best ramen in Little Tokyo or waiting 30 minutes in line for the newest trendy food truck. The places, the company, the food all made it a special occasion.
Now? Ain’t nobody got time for that!
On Sunday, we had a breakfast “date.” It consisted of the two of us dropping our cars off for detail and wash, and then walking next door to Chik-fil-A. And you know what? It was awesome. We talked to each other, and it was for conversational purposes, not for assistance wiping down a stray hand that had found its way into ketchup or to go grab more napkins. My husband noticed this too. “It’s nice eating without someone screaming at you,” he observed. Whether the screaming person he was referencing was me or my son, I’ll leave that unanswered.