In the weeks leading up to Tori’s birth, I repeatedly apologized to my husband. Not for anything I had done, but for what I anticipated I might do after she was born.
Everybody told me that the first three months were going to be hell. That we’d fight. That I’d resent the heck out of him – maybe even hate him a little. And that, ultimately, the baby would damage our marriage.
Well, I hate to sound like a broken record, but they were dead wrong. I mean, sure, the first few weeks were rough. Thanks to those lovely postpartum hormones, I was pretty much a raging maniac – crying one minute, laughing the next, then seething for no good reason before dissolving into tears again.
But I don’t think we ever screamed at each other. Not even once. We’ve already taken a trip to hell together – and we got good and lost. By the time we found our way out, we had become a rock solid team.
So, a baby? Piece of cake. Well, okay, not really, but she certainly hasn’t come between us. If anything, she’s brought us closer together (at least I’d like to think so).
On those days when she screams bloody murder until I want to holler myself, it’s Brian that talks me down.
When I’m whimpering with exhaustion in the middle of the night, he’s there to take over.
And when I’m giddy with joy over some silly thing she’s done? It’s him I want to share the moment with.
He’s a wonderful father, and our baby girl has him wrapped around her little finger. Seeing them together makes my insides turn to goo. I don’t know if our marriage is babyproofed, but I am sure that I love him just as much (maybe even more) than I ever did.
And together? We’re raising one special little girl.