Love & Babies
We had the perfect plan.
The pavlova (a giant meringue dessert) and custard were finished a day ahead and set aside. Austin would pick up the remaining groceries and then Baby J from daycare. They’d return home in time for some cozy family time. We’d then put the baby to bed, after which Austin and I would enjoy our traditional Valentine’s Day meal: homemade pasta carbonara and our pavlova dessert. As you might imagine, life with babies doesn’t always go according to plan. Even on Valentine’s Day. The first sign of things going topsy-turvy was receiving Baby J’s day sheet. He’d had 2 naps, one lasting 20 minutes and the other a whopping 10. My stomach plummeted. This kiddo was going to be a mess.
At first, the evening went well. Baby J was thrilled to be home and playing with his mama, laughing at the cats and happily chowing down his teething crackers. But gradually he got fussier and fussier. Should we just put him to bed early? My husband wondered. No, I decided. Let’s stick with his normal bedtime, try to keep him on a schedule. We’ll give him a bath to keep him happy and pass the time. Into the bath, our child went.
As he is a champion of sitting up on his own, I no longer felt the need to sit in the bath with him. Instead, I picked up my child, naked limbs wiggling with excitement, and plopped him into the warm water. He sat happily on his little bathmat, splashing and chewing on his rubber duck. And then it happened. Baby J tipped sideways and bonked his head on the side of the tub before I could stabilize him. At first, he didn’t react, but then Baby J began to cry. I scooped him up and pressed him to my chest, ignoring the water now soaking my sweater, as much for my comfort as his. After a few moments, he quieted and happily went back to splashing around in the bath. All was well. Then I noticed the red, angry splotch on his head where his head had met the side of the tub. My heart jumped into my throat.
I asked Austin what he thought. I asked my mother what she thought. He’s probably fine, they both said. While I figured they were right, I couldn’t shake the fear clutching my heart. Even after Baby J was asleep and the red spot had faded without a trace, I couldn’t rest. So we put our dinner on hold while I called up our pediatrician’s office, talked to the nurse, and then woke our son up and kept him awake, waiting for the nurse to call back and do a final phone evaluation. By 7:40, Baby J was back in his crib, sleeping soundly, with the nurse agreeing that he was fine. We returned to our romantic at-home date night, making our pasta and eating too much dessert. But even with the reassurance from my husband, my mother, AND the nurse, I still felt the ice-cold grip of anxiety around my heart. Not the vibe you want on Valentine’s Day. Especially not for me, a mushy romantic.
It wasn’t until our son woke up the next morning that I felt that cold fear release my soul, but the experience still left me shaken. I was ashamed that Baby J had fallen on my watch. The previous evening also broke my heart a little bit. The incident pulled my attention away from my husband, a man who comforted me through every pregnant anxiety attack, who got up with me through all the night feedings so I wouldn’t feel alone, and who always believes in me and my dreams. A man who I love with every fiber of my soul and loves me all the same. That night was supposed to be our night to celebrate us. (Not that we don’t make a point to appreciate each other and love each other all the other days of the year as well, but it’s nice to have a special event too.) I began to wonder whether there were other times that I should have given Austin more of myself instead of being frustrated with the cat’s knocking things off the counter, focused on our son’s fussing, or worried about the dinner burning.
I expected having a baby to radically change our life together. Sure enough, there’s less time and more to do and some days never go to plan. While it would be easy to see how that can push relationships apart, it’s drawn us closer together in the end. I remember sitting in our bathroom after puking up all my breakfast during the first trimester, meeting Austin’s concerned eyes as he rubbed my back to comfort me — or maybe himself. This is love. This is the intimate side of marriage that no one tells you about, I thought. That thought stayed with me when Baby J arrived, and I witnessed his deep love for our child manifested through all the care he took on in those early weeks when I couldn’t. Even now, in the throws of new parenthood, even on the days that a stressful and scary, my trust in my husband is absolute. We’re a team. We’re figuring it out together. Two halves of a whole heart loving our son. Even if that means sometimes the cats or work or Baby J commands our attention. We’ll always find the time for each other too — even if some days it’s more than others.
At the heart of our Valentine’s Day tradition are the letters we exchange. Between dinner and dessert, we’ll pull out paper and pens, and write by candlelight. In his letter to me, Austin wrote about fondly looking back on these early years of our love but also about how much he cherished the present moment together. Those words make me think of our journey, falling in love, deciding to get married, our earliest days as newlyweds, and the years that followed. Each season our love grows deeper and wider and stronger. Romcoms will never show this side of love but there is nothing more intimate than the rock-solid knowledge that no matter what, if I need him — whether it for a burp cloth or groceries or giving me a respite after our baby has been particularly fussy for me — he’ll be there. And I’ve never loved my husband more than witnessing him care for and play with and love our son. I had no idea how profound parenthood would be for us, or how much closer it would draw us. But I’m so thankful that it has.
The more I think about the events of Valentine’s Day in the light of Austin’s letter, the more together strikes me as the key point. Some moments are going to be perfect and others will be disrupted by the baby bonking his head a tiny bit and setting in motion a slew of unforeseen anxieties and phone calls. But we will always be together. And that’s what marriage is all about. Living life together. For better. For worse. To love and to cherish, as long as we both shall live.
