I’m pretty convinced my partner has narcolepsy. His talent for dozing off the instant he relaxes is both impressive and maddening. It’s not just a minor annoyance in our relationship; it makes me want to shake him awake—hard. I struggle to fall asleep, and when I finally do, I’m often jolted awake by either his snoring or the kids. Just the other day, I accidentally told a group, “I think my husband has necrophilia.” Clearly, I need more shut-eye.
I adore my husband and genuinely want to spend quality time with him—even in the bedroom! But our little ones always seem to be around, interrupting our conversations and romantic moments, squeezing themselves between us. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by how much life has transformed since we became parents and how challenging it can be to nurture our relationship.
There are days when I want to scream, “FORGET THIS!” and stab a gallon of milk with scissors, letting it explode all over the kitchen so that the whole house reeks of sour dairy by the time my husband gets home for dinner. Then, I’d greet him with a kiss and say, “I spent my day bathing our home in whole milk. No 2 percent here! Oh, and by the way, everyone’s got the runs, we’re out of diapers, bread, and milk—obviously. See you in a week!”
Recently, I admitted that my emotional needs weren’t being met, which inadvertently sparked a discussion about feelings before 8 a.m. Picture me in my nightgown, angrily emptying the dishwasher while he stood there in his work attire, looking utterly clueless. Meanwhile, our two oldest kids were in the bathroom trying to shove latex balloons down the drain. Ah, the joys of marriage and parenting!
I often reminisce about the days when we were still trying to impress one another. Back then, I’d spend ages getting ready, and he’d surprise me with concert tickets or flowers. But now, adulting means budgeting, buying school supplies, and figuring out why that mysterious smell in the van is still lingering after two weeks. Not exactly the most romantic of times.
Then came Tuesday at 5:45 p.m. as I stood at the sink, wondering: Who on earth invented Hamburger Helper? I mean, it’s just a box of chemicals to which I’m supposed to add meat and water. Why are the boys screaming like that? Oh no, someone’s going to end up in the E.R. if they keep running around—“STOP RUNNING THROUGH THE HOUSE!”—and just like that, my husband walked in. I caught a glimpse of myself and noticed I looked like I’d been through a war zone—diaper cream on my pants, hair a mess, and no mirror check in hours.
But then, he came over, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me like a scene from a romantic movie. For a moment, time stood still. Despite the chaos, I wouldn’t want to go through this journey with anyone else—even with the narcoleptic tendencies.
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In summary, while parenthood can be chaotic and far from glamorous, the love shared between two people navigating this journey is what truly matters.