Before Punky came along, our relationship was still fairly new. Her dad and I dated a while, but we were only living together about four months when we conceived our perfect, little girl. And those four months went as you would expect with any couple who recently moved in together. Sure, we started noticing the little things that can typically cause spats, but they were easily overlooked with the passion of a new relationship. We had discussed the possibility of a baby down the road, but by no means were we trying at that point. Given the outcome, I guess we weren't really trying to prevent it either.
His hesitations stemmed from his age and the fact that he already had two older boys, ages 12 and 19 at the time. He'd been down the new baby road before, he had a much better understanding of the changes it brings to a relationship, and his days of diaper changes and three a.m. feedings were long behind him. He wasn't sure he wanted to start all over again. My hesitations were fueled by the fear of another loss. While I truly believed another pregnancy would end that way, I also knew I would never go the medical intervention route. I applaud women who have the strength to endure loss after loss, treatment after treatment, and even failed adoption after failed adoption in their pursuit to become a mother. I didn't have it in me. I just didn't.
But nevertheless, there we were, completely in shock, just staring at the flashing pregnancy test. Ready or not, we were strapped into the roller coaster and it departed from the station. We hung on tightly through the ups and downs those nine, long months. There were plenty of curves along the way and I, of course, was fully prepared for derailment at any point.
The first eight weeks postpartum went well as we adjusted to life with a newborn. Yes, we were tired but at least I was off work so he managed to get enough sleep to function at his job. When I had to return to work full time, things started getting rough. It broke my heart when I had to leave Punky every day, but staying home wasn't an option. We simply couldn't afford it. I sunk into a deep depression as the months passed and her dad and I grew further apart with each passing day. We were both exhausted. I was miserable. He was angry that I had basically written us off at that point. Then when Punky was six months old, right about the time I started this blog, he got laid off from work and financial trouble was added to the pile of discontent.
Over the last two years, we've had our share of disagreements. We've had extremely rocky times, followed by periods of indifference, followed by peaceful times. It's cyclical, really. Each of us blames the other, of course, but there is some truth on both sides of the argument. I've struggled with my own identity since becoming a mom. At times I'm so focused on that role, and I've let many other aspects of my life simply vanish in the wake. Our relationship was one of those things that got pushed to a back burner. I just needed to put it on low and let it simmer while I worked through the new world of motherhood.
On the flip side, he wasn't content to simmer. The more I withdrew into my own world, the more he felt neglected, and the higher he turned the heat. Once in a while the pot would boil over. A few days of yelling, a few of not speaking, a few more just existing. Eventually the water would return to warm and we'd like each other again. We would kiss and make up, so to speak, and things would be calm for a while. But then life's pressures would bear down once again, and I'd retreat into hiding, and tensions would build, and the cycle would repeat. We just couldn't seem to fully reconnect post baby. We just couldn't get it right.
The last few weeks have seemed different. We're taking life less seriously. We're working like a team instead of playing tug-of-war over every little thing. We're making time to spend together, alone. We're flirting through text messages like silly teenagers. We're laughing more. We're talking more. I can't even remember the last time I thought about whizzing a steak knife his way. It's a whole new type of calmness around here these days.
Nearly three years in, maybe we finally figured it out. And maybe we haven't. I can't pinpoint an exact cause, nor do I care to. Maybe it will last; maybe it won't.
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