When in my early 20s, my mother told me something important that meant nothing to me at the time. I was young and didn’t have a clue about marriage or kids, and I have no idea what sparked the conversation. But I distinctly remember her telling me that though she loved us kids, she put her marriage before us. She said that she was a mother, yes, but she was also a wife, and that she didn’t want taking care of her children to overshadow her relationship with my father. She said she put him first. At the time, I was like, who cares? Sure. That sounds great.  Whatever. And then when I had babies, I remembered her words. In the newborn haze, I thought it was impossible to put your marriage first when you have kids.

But it isn’t impossible. It just takes work.  And it’s really, really important. 
When you have kids, people bombard you with advice. Do this. Don’t do that. One thing I wish someone had told me was HOW to take care of your marriage (or relationship). Of course, I knew about the importance of carving out time for the two of you and scheduling date nights. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not talking about a weekend trip or happy hour.  I’m talking about communication. I’m talking about discovery. I’m talking about the day-to-day maintenance. I’m talking about marital survival. 

It is so hard to take care of your marriage or partnership after kids enter your lives. It’s madness. Your communication becomes– when did she eat? did she poop? can you PLEASE help me? how many ounces did she drink? when is her next nap? can you feed her? will you take her from me? we’re late. where are her shoes? can you change her diaper?  where did this bruise come from? how did she get all wet? what time is her doctor’s appointment? she fell again. shiiiitttt-she pooped again. when will you be home? what is that on her face? how in the world can we do this? (I could keep going, but you get the point.) 

When you became parents, you become these entirely different people. And this new identity is beautiful and amazing sometimes, but it’s also brutal on your partnership. You become roommates who are trying to keep small humans alive. You no longer mingle at parties. Instead, one of you runs after the toddler and tries at all costs to prevent her from breaking everything she touches. The other bounces, rocks, and feeds the baby. You’re constantly playing man defense, and one of you takes one kid while the other takes the other kid. You hardly see each other. You don’t enjoy meals or have casual conversations if your kids are present. Your after-work routine centers on the girls, and though you enjoy it, you miss time with your partner. At one point, you stand in the middle of the living room, bewildered, because somehow three months have flown by. When you do talk, it’s about work or the girls or some lingering argument that won’t fucking die.

You love each other, but you lose each other.  And it’s sneaky. It happens so quietly and so quickly. It’s a daily chipping away that you barely notice. And it’s so hard. 

So how do you do it? How do you take care of your marriage on a daily basis? I suppose it’s pretty simple, actually. It’s the same as love. I didn’t fall in love with Rob or marry him for one single reason. I love him and married him for so many reasons. And marriage maintenance is the same. Dozens of little pieces fit together to make up the whole. It isn’t one single thing you do. It isn’t a simple answer. It’s all those seemingly insignificant actions and words and moments that accumulate and build your love and your life. Every day you rebuild what is chipped away one small piece at a time.

For us, it’s holding hands in the car. It’s saying, I need you. It’s making dinner and picking up. It’s letting the other sleep in while you take care of the kids. It’s laughing at each other. It’s collapsing into bed, pressing skin to skin. It’s a thousand hugs. It’s really tough conversations. It’s smacking your partner’s butt as you walk by in the kitchen. It’s five hundred “I love yous” whispered in the dark. It’s so many little kisses. It’s marveling at your beautiful daughters. It’s a hundred arguments that strengthen your relationship. It’s knowing looks that require no words and quiet moments not punctuated by unnecessary talk. It’s saying, I’m sorry and I’ll try harder. It’s giving each other space. It’s listening and learning and compromising. It’s telling each other over and over that you’re in this together for the long haul.

This past year was the hardest year I’ve had in a very long time. I feel guilty admitting this since we were blessed with Ivy in 2018 and we’re building a new home. But the truth is that this year was hard on me and our marriage. But I’ve been thinking about what this means moving forward. I told Rob that maybe a really tough year is needed to pave the way for an amazing year. Maybe this brutal year will yield the best year of our lives. Who knows?

Here’s what I do know: I know my mother was right (aren’t they usually?). I know life can be hard and it can be good and it can be beautiful, sometimes all at the same time. I know I grew as a woman, a wife, and a mother this past year.  I know our marriage is going to be stronger than ever because we are continually working on and building this life together. I know that in 2019 we’re going to keep muddling our way through this beautiful mess we created. 

Goodbye 2018; cheers to 2019. (And may we all listen to our mothers if we are blessed enough to have them in our lives.)

Photos: Our family, Xmas 2018