When I found out I was pregnant in December of 2015, my husband (then fianceé) and I had only been together for a little over a year. I found out later that I had actually been pregnant since the beginning of September, so less than a year, but that is SO not the point.
Before we were together, J drank and partied and did a lot of things that I never really liked to have in my life because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop having them when I needed to. I knew about his past, and he knew what I wanted for our future.
We didn’t fight very much in our first year together. The only things we ever fought about were alcohol and why he still had slutty-slutty-sluts on his Facebook still (he maintains that its because most of them were friends first, and then partners and none of them really mattered any more. I believe him, but it was still gross to me.) I watched my mother stay with a man for almost 20 years who was “sober”. But that’s their marriage, and we don’t need to go there. Just know that it wasn’t pretty when he did drink, and I was not going to live that life. So when there was sneakiness or outright lying, I made sure that J knew where we stood… and where he would be sleeping.
Right after we discovered the tiny human inside of me, J went off the rails and on a drinking binge. He drank so much he got sick. He drank so much, I considered leaving. He drank so much, that I thought about aborting my child and disappearing to wherever. I told him, as I stood barefoot in the snow, that I knew he was scared and, in a few months, his life would change forever, but mine had already changed. At least he had time to warm up to the idea; I was doing the damn thing.
That was our lowest point.
Here we are being super cute when we first lived together. Whenever I get upset about something small and inconsequential, I look at this picture (its framed and hung next to our bed). It was such a tumultuous period of our lives, yet we are so happy to be wrapped up in each other that the outside world ceases to exist. It doesn’t always fix whatever we are fighting about, but often enough it gets me calm enough that I can at least start the conversation.
Now that we have a baby, our priorities have shifted dramatically, and most of our fights now revolve around communication. I don’t ask specifically for exactly what I need, and he doesn’t listen to exactly what I need. It’s a vicious cycle, and we are working on it.
And really, what else is there? In any relationship, no matter how inconsequential or significant will always take work and sacrifice if it is expected to continue. In our case, it takes work every day to make it ok. We work hard on each other, on ourselves, and on our relationship because we both know that, with out the other, we will fail.
With out my husband, I would fail as a mother, as a daughter, as an employee and as and adult. He keeps me sane enough to be myself without medication, and he knows when to reign me in because I’m being too much myself.
He is my absolute best friend. We do almost everything together, and when we’re apart, we wish we were together. We text constantly when he’s out of town. The five hours that I’m at work are awful because I CAN’T text him. But you know what? I talk about him constantly at work. When I take a table with a guy with a man-bun, my heart aches. When I hear a Bob Dylan song, I miss his voice because Bob is the reason we are together, or one of many.
Our relationship is by no means perfect, but we fit together. His weird idiosyncrasies complete mine. He cooks Indian food, I cook Italian. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else in the world. He is literally the reason I am still alive.