We’ve been married for over two years now. Not a very long time, in the grand scheme of things (or even that long in the scheme of our relationship – we’ve been together over 11 years), but still an achievement. Because of the busy-ness of life with a young baby and a new job (for Tom, not me) we’re yet to fully celebrate our anniversary, but I’ve been reflecting on how being married is for me in some of the quiet moments of the past few days, i.e. the four seconds after the baby has gone down for a nap FINALLY and before starting the washing up/eating something/putting the washing out that’s been stewing in the washing machine for three hours/etc.
So much has happened since we got married, and a lot of it in the past year: we’ve bought a house, I changed jobs and got pregnant, Tom finished his PhD and then started a new, non-academic job. And something else that I’m forgetting… Oh yes, a little person arrived.
We don’t have the time or the disposable income to regularly go out for meals or date nights, we’re too tired to stay up late with a bottle of wine and talk about the articles we’ve read or the films we’ve loved, spending valuable baby-nap time on my appearance is a low priority and it’s fair to say that the last few weeks of Tom’s PhD brought some not-inconsiderable stress to our house, but we’re still strong.
We’re much better at communicating, letting the little things go but doing our best to discuss the big things. Throughout all of the hard moments we’ve encountered, I’ve often found myself thinking how glad I am that we’re married rather than just living together because I know that as long as I do put something into the relationship as and when I can, this incredible man is always going to be there. He loves this stressed, snappy, sleep-deprived, still carrying the baby weight, hormonal, can’t-talk-about-anything-other-than-the-baby wife because he has to. That might sound unromantic, but I actually find it comforting and like the possibilities it offers, knowing that we have that basis and can face everything together. I can’t say that there haven’t been (like, a million) moments when I haven’t wanted to strangle Tom – especially when I’ve come downstairs after an hour of trying to get the baby to go to sleep to find his jumper on the kitchen table, an empty milk carton on the side, his shoes on the play mat and the parcel that I asked him to post still on the stairs – but I can honestly say that not for one moment have I ever regretted marrying him.
I asked Tom what he thinks about being married and he said “I fucking love it”. So there you go.