Marriage after baby: our first year of parenting
A few weeks ago, I started drafting this essay. For us and the rest of the world, 2020 has been utterly chaotic – this year we gave birth to a new business, and like any small business, it requires a lot of hard work, long hours, and sacrifice – add a pandemic, a husband working from home and a teething toddler into the mix, and you have got, well, a lot on your plate. My husband and I have been running on fumes, and the only words I could muster were: I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I’m forgetful, that I don’t write lists, that I hate washing, cleaning and any kind of domestic chores. I’m sorry I don’t care if our home is messy nor do I worry that my hair is not done. I’m sorry I don’t get dressed up, that activewear has crept its way into my daily wardrobe, or that we can never find any matching socks. I’m sorry we only get an hour each night together to eat dinner, watch a bit of TV, often too exhausted to talk about anything other than whether we agreed with the judge’s scores on The Block. I’m sorry I don’t have the capacity to be there like I use to be. I’m sorry we are in this moment, this messy, tumultuous moment, but I’m not sorry I’m here with you.
These were the words that poured out of me and onto my page but the last line is what’s important because relationships can’t be measured by the golden days. They can only be truly tested by our darkest moments. The times where we break hard and recover slow, whether it be as an individual or together – knowing that the other person, will always be, willingly, by your side. That is what it all comes down to.
In the early days of parenthood, Danny would kiss me on the forehead before he left for work. "Lucky bastard", I'd mutter to myself as the door slammed shut. Here I was, unshowered, uncaffeinated, unfed, swollen, in pain, and with a screaming newborn who slept in 25 minutes blocks and who also refused to be put down. A newborn, who even if I held him all day, would still unleash a tirade of inconsolable, blood-curdling screams, that most days would have me crying down the phone to my husband, begging him to come home early from work. When he couldn’t leave at my request, I felt such a deep resentment towards him. I was so irrational, so on edge, so petrified of being left alone with my son. As soon as Danny walked through the door, no time to change out of his suit, I didn't ask or care how his day was. I just handed him our son (who you could count on to be screaming uncontrollably) without hesitation, as if to say, "your turn."
We were desperately unhappy, we worried about each other, often forcing each other to take a break and even felt regretful that we became parents. We were mourning our old lives, our freedom, our intimacy and our sleep. Both of us were holding on by a thread of milestone moments – first smiles, new noises, giggles, less than a handful of successful outings and the discovery that Freddie loved the ocean. We were right in the thick of it, not knowing if or when things were going to get better – but they did, and with the help of a good paediatrician, Freddie did too. Our beginning was hard. Like most parents know, the early stages are all about survival, and we barely survived.
Six months passed and with the help of medication, Freddie’s reflux improved, his screams dwindled, our anxiety as new parents decreased, and we were starting to find our rhythm. We both felt incredibly proud that we had made it through the storm and we were basking in every moment of being Mum and Dad. Although he slept very little and we were exhausted, Freddie was thriving and happy, and that was what mattered most.
A year on and we were still finding it hard to carve out time to spend just us two. Sure we steal a moment here, and there but it is not enough. My husband needs and deserves my attention, but once our son is down for the night I crave space and feel every bit guilty for it. We have the tough conversations and I explain that as a new mum, a working mum, a full-time mum, I need some downtime. He gets it. And I get why he feels the way he does. After all, it is not unreasonable to want attention or affection from your wife. Both our feelings are warranted. We don’t have a solution but we are choosing to grow together so we don’t grow apart.
My life has changed in so many beautiful and terrifying ways, but I greatly underestimated how this wild ride has impacted Danny too. Freddie has brought a level of happiness to our lives that is indescribable, so much so that we often are in tears of joy, pinching ourselves over just how bloody happy we are to have such a beautiful and healthy family. In awe of our perfect little creation who has my big brown eyes, Danny’s nose, and his great grandfather's dimples – he is our universe, and we know that we can’t prioritise everything all at once. However, what we can and do is we keep talking, keep trying to understand each other, keep celebrating the highs and when we do have a moment alone together, we put down our phones, curl up on the couch, share some wine, talk about our day, and just relish in being us.
Now, fourteen months into parenthood, and we’re still getting used to it. Our relationship isn’t perfect, I don’t think any relationships are. We rarely have date nights, sleep takes precedence over sex, work never stops, and if one of us gets a chance to do something alone, we take it. We still bicker over dirty dishes and other trivial things but we're constantly working on it, and working on ourselves.
If I needed him to step up or step in, he’d do it, and he knows I’m there, no matter what – that kind of union between two people is rare and I’m holding on with both hands because at the end of the day there’s no other person I’d rather have by my side in the trenches of parenthood.
Words by Jade Fox.
Image by Nastassia Nina Brückin Levy