Today is our 3 year wedding anniversary.
It certainly was never our plan to have children straight after getting married, but I really thought that we’d have had a mini-me wreaking havoc by now.
The only blessing is that we are still able to enjoy our company and do things at the drop of a hat (more of that in another post), but I’d much rather be going on family days out right now.
Fortunately, because everybody we know is aware of our baby mission and struggle, we don’t get asked those godawful awkward questions like “so when are you having kids?” Or getting pitiful looks from people. That really is the only saving grace, because I swear to god if I’d been having to deal with that on my plate as well as everything else I’d have probably fucking punched someone by now.
Yesterday was a tough day. I was really emotional and weepy and felt like I needed a bloody good cry.
It was a combination of things. The eve of our anniversary was just another reminder of our family being stuck at 2 didn’t help. The fact that we are out for another cycle is also another disappointment. We had lots of sex a week ago when my body was gearing up to ovulate; the fertile CM was there, my temps had dropped, the pains were beginning, the horniness was off the scale… We were doing it every other day and I knew my spike was around the corner. I was feeling optimistic that we were going to be in with a chance this month.
Then Dave had a setback. And then I didn’t ovulate because of the consequent stress.
His mental health had been quite stable and his sex drive was back to normal for a good few weeks. But then the news about Chester Bennington from Linkin Park affected him. I’ve said before that I wouldn’t blog about things that intrude on Dave’s privacy, so I won’t, but the past week has been a tough one.
When these blips happen, they leave me feeling insecure and anxious. It takes all my strength to be the strong one, but that is what marriage is all about: stepping in when the other is feeling weak.
It’s not easy. It’s not fucking easy. To try and maintain the relationship of husband and wife, rather than patient and carer (or even worse, lodgers) takes effort, patience and unconditional love. And sometimes I’m absolutely shit at it. Lately I’ve felt like a fucking shit wife.
At times I feel like I can’t let myself crumble when I want to. I reach out to other people but at the same time I stop myself. I have a lot of good friends in my life – OUR lives – who love Dave and me. But I also don’t want to burden them. I have no problem opening up through my blog but I can’t bring myself to do it in reality. It’s a vulnerability that I’m not prepared to expose. I know, it’s a contradiction.
So I hold it together. I cry in private. I get drunk to forget the pain. And nobody dare fucking judge me for that.
But I pick myself up and carry on. I’m there for my husband. 100%. Things may be difficult right now. But they won’t always be. Before long we’ll be arguing about who is getting up to do the night feed, and whose turn it is to change the shitty nappy. All… this… will be a distant memory.
I grew up in such a stable family. My parents have been married for 37 years. One of our family mottos was to have enough peachy moments to outweigh the pear ones.
I can’t wait til Dave and I are in our 80s with grandkids around us and we take a moment to look at them and look at each other. And in that one look we’ll tell each other:
“It was worth it. The pain. The tears. The heartache. The sleepless nights. The arguments. The isolation. The loneliness. The anguish. The vows. The faith. The loyalty. The forgiveness. The companionship. The strength. The unfaltering love.
It was all fucking worth it.”
I love you xxx