and baby makes three.

Some days, it is just so hard.

Jimmy and I are stereotypical high school sweethearts. We began dating in our freshman year and never looked back. We didn’t have any of the drama that usually accompanies such long-term setups; we broke up only once, in our sophomore year. It lasted approximately 13 hours. We were engaged just 2 years after graduation.

We’ve been together for nine years, married now for three. We know each other well, probably as well as you could presume to truly “know” another person. We thought we were ready to have a baby, well-equipped for the challenge. We were sure that we wouldn’t encounter all the problems those other couples had – we knew each other better than that (hey, I can hear you laughing. Stop it).

But still, I thought it best to be prepared. In my typical fashion, I prepared by buying books. My favorite was Babyproofing Your Marriage: How to Laugh More, Argue Less, and Communicate Better as Your Family Grows. Despite the atrociously long title, I loved the book for its humor and easy candor. Mostly useless for us, however, because we would simply not have those problems. (Seriously, your giggles are really distracting).

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                            

Then Madeline arrived. Suddenly there was a whole new person, a whole new dynamic within the household. We weren’t sleeping. My boobs were working overtime, and I was exhausted by it. I was hormonal and frankly crazy.

There was too much to do; the house was never clean. The baby required constant care and attention; the reality of motherhood was far from my hazy daydreams of the three of us cuddling in bed. Suddenly the bed had become a war zone: who got to sleep in? Who got to go to bed first? Who would get up with the baby, and most of all: who got to take the coveted Sunday Nap?

Quickly we fell headfirst into the pit that most new parents succumb to: we turned on each other. We snapped, sniped and swore at each other. We kept score of diapers changed, bottles fed, precious minutes of free time.

I say this in past tense… I would like it to be past tense. It’s not, though. It’s something that we still struggle with daily. We’ve toned down the scorekeeping and the Language of Sailors, but what lingers for me is the resentment of a life forever altered.

Let me note – it is a life I love. I adore my baby girl, and I love my role as her mommy. The thought of not having her with me is unspeakable; I cannot remember life before her as having actually happened.

And yet. Forever altered. And I resent it, because there are times when I feel that mine is the only universe in this household that’s been rocked.

Last night was the first game of the season for my husband, a varsity football coach. The team had to travel two hours to the game site, a trip that would land him home around midnight. The team won, we chatted, he said that he would be stopping at another coach’s house for a quick beer and a debrief. This is common for them and certainly no big deal to me; I told him to have fun and went to bed.

I woke up to Maddie’s soft whimpers on the monitor at 3am. My husband was not next to me. Nearly simaltaneously, my cell phone began humming its tune on the bedstand next to me. It was him. “Babe, I left my phone in the car – I’m sorry, I didn’t think to call you.”

It is, to the record books, a small transgression. But I was instantly flooded with rage and resentment born of the fact that never could I ever do that. I instantly felt all the resentment of the past six months fill my heart: the constant worry, the responsibility, the burden.

In that moment, I felt that I carried it solely. I felt betrayed, forgotten – how could this be, an evening away without a thought of home? I was enraged at how easy it seemingly was for him – the freedom with which he left home, without bags and bottles and aching breasts, a mind constantly wandering and worrying. Without the thought of us.

Today was hard. My husband is a fantastic father, and he’s a wonderful husband. Despite this, the struggle continues – the adjustment to a life forever altered, identities changed. We fought throughout the day today, little spats that were just cruel enough to hurt feelings, insults like stones and silence heavy over us, over our hearts. The resentment is hard to dismiss some days, even when the story surrounding it is not even close to the truth of our lives.

“What happened to us?” I cried tonight, a bad made-for-tv line that I hated to hear from my own mouth.

He was holding me, and gently he steered me away from the kitchen table, to the island where Madeline slept in her carseat, unaware. “She did,” he said, kissing my forehead. “She did, and we’re better for it.”

Baby makes three… but it is still up to the original two to continue a marriage, create a family. Some days it is hard, others it is easy. Every day is worth the work.