For better, not for worse. 

When I was a month pregnant, Dom proposed to me. It was how we planned it. Get pregnant and get hitched. 

I told him that I still wanted him to propose to me, keep it romantic. 

I was working at a place where I felt bullied because I was pregnant, and in return argued with him that day to vent my frustrations. I came home to candles leading to him on bended knee. I cried so hard. From happiness, guilt for arguing with him, and the frustrations of the day. 

I knew in that moment, he would be there for me. Always and forever. No matter what. He even said himself, ‘even when you’re a grumpy tits’. We both promised we would always be loving and romantic to each other, no matter what. 

If someone told me that day, that things would have change. I would have told them, no chance.. We promised! Besides, the movies tell you that you fall in love more deeply after kids, so don’t you? 

9 months later. Here comes the baby, there goes the marriage. 19 months later then there’s two. The movies lied. 

Things change. it makes me sad, but it is no ones fault. 

From knowing who my number one was and whose number one *I* was, we have both settled becoming number two (and three)

Date nights and all day sex sessions are long gone, and replaced by early “good nights” and pecks  and laying with our backs to each other beyond exhausted… Pretending not to hear the kids wake at 3am and secretly hoping the other will get up. 

Morning messages of “I love you’s” before work are replaced with “you forgot your lunch” and “pick up milk on your way home”. Deep conversations about the way we love each other are replaced with conversations about the colour of poop, sleep and how much has been actually eaten instead of thrown on the floor. 

Underwear goes from hot Lace G strings that disappear into your buttcheeks and silk French knickers to floral undies that come up to your neck (and you couldn’t be more happier)

Shaved legs are  replaced with hairy legs, shaved pits are now hairy, and whoo haa’s are lost in the Amazon. They’re only mowed for special occasions, and even then, who has time to do that when you can’t even pee alone. 

Wanting to be desired so desperately but also feeling resentment that your body is different now, while his is still his own. 

Children are a blessing. Undoubtedly. But they take up all the time you had to treat each other like the number ones. Some people can achieve it, but then there’s us regular people who struggle to get their shite together by 9pm, let alone 9am. The balance of us and being there for them is too hard to settle and the sea-saw is to one side. 

I don’t regret it. I’m not mad about that. I’m sometimes sad that things are different now. 

They’re different, for better; but not for worse. 

It’s more than passionate love now, it’s companionship type love. It’s long haul and testing your patience type of love. 

At the moment we can’t hope for date nights and drunken night and wild sex and sleep ins. All we can aim for is doing little nice gestures to show support and love. That’s commitment, that’s love and that’s marriage. 

Sure sometimes it gets the best of us. Sometimes it makes us angry. Sometimes we mentally divorce him in our head. Sometimes we cry and mourn the romance we had… It’s normal. 
It’s a different type of romance now. The change is scary, but it’s what we have to embrace now that we are number twos (engulfed in number twos).

Love is about what we made. Love is in the form of lives we made, and in the same process fullfiling our lives more. Love is about knowing it’s hard for the both of us. Love is embracing the change and accepting the new us.  

Love is accepting us for what we are, grumpy tits and all. 





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