I woke up this morning giddy and excited about setting up my Valentine’s Day gift. I’d sourced the perfect card, thought out my little trinket of affection imagining his smile when I give it to him. I’d thought out the perfect verse to write in the card, hoping that the words would express just how much I loved him.
I got out of bed, my husband ran into one room to get his gifts ready, while I ran into the living room to do the same with mine. We came out into the hallway at the same time, smiles on our faces and arms extended with red cards and heart patterned gift bags, walked straight past each other and into the arms of our 2 valentines. Our kids.
I can’t precisely pin point when I lost my husband as my valentine, but I would hazard a guess that it was around the same time I lost the elasticity of my vagina.
It seems to be an equation that is well known in the family sphere…
Woman + Man / Baby = Who the hell am I married to again?
I’ll admit, losing my husband to parenthood did sting a little, but I was almost certainly too exhausted to give a rats ass. I was too tired to talk, or string a sentence together that didn’t involve me hitting my head and searching for the word to replace ‘thing’, ‘thingy’, or ‘you know that thing I’m on about’. There was certainly no energy for bedroom olympics, plus my lady parts were lucky they had a wet wipe never mind a wash back in the days of tiny baby territory.
We got so used to not trying, that even when we got more sleep and baby independence, not trying was how our relationship rolled. It wasn’t until we realised we were living as two single housemates that we noticed ‘not trying’ wasn’t doing anything for us. Nothing apart from making us lonely.
People always say that children should come first. I always believed that too, it was no secret in our relationship that we both ranked third after the kids. If either of us tried to talk and a little one popped up, our conversation was shut down just to hear about the big brown poop one of them had. But I don’t think I believe that our children should be first so much anymore.
You see my husband was there before my kids, and even through all the shitty nappies and arguments over who is doing more, I sure do bloody hope he’s here after the kids grow up. (Knowing them two they would probably throw me in a nursing home, I need someone on my side.) Although I don’t like to admit it to him, there is so much more positives in our family when I put him first. We parent better, we both feel more content and mostly it teaches our children to treat people with more love and respect. When they seen how we both snapped at each other, or lay in opposite sofas with our heads in our phones ignoring one another, it taught them the wrong values of love and respect.
So although some days I still may want to make earrings out of the hubbys knackers, I know this Valentine’s Day – behind the kids gifts and cards – he’s still my true valentine. If only we try a little harder.
(and no liam, that doesn’t involve me re-enacting a scene from fifty shades of shite!)