8 Years

Today, after the kids were in bed, I asked my husband to make me a mug of green tea.

He did, and as he brought it to me, I glanced at my watch. 18th of January.

‘Hey,’ I said, taking the tea from him, ‘We’ve been married 8 years today.’

‘No way! Really? That’s today?’

‘Yup,’ I said, taking a sip.


‘I know right, feels like we are newly married.’

He snorted as he sat down with his own tea, ‘Yeah, sure.’

Image Credit


Yesterday was our seven year anniversary and we both forgot.

I don’t know what we were doing. It was a Monday so D was working. In his office. Slash second bedroom. Slash nursery.

I was downstairs with baby. Who is not a baby anymore. He was sliding his teddies down his little slide in the living room and I was sitting on the sofa trying to get work done. And getting interrupted, so really nothing was done. It’s ok, I told myself, as I got up for the millionth time to do something or other, I will work once he is in bed.

Then it was lunchtime. For baby. I gave him leftover pasta from the night before. And then hustled him upstairs for his nap. As he fell asleep, I did too. The exhaustion of being 8 months pregnant, working, caring for a toddler and doing the million other things people have to do just took over.

I woke up at 3pm, and baby was still sleeping, so I stumbled groggily and in a bad MOOD to the office slash nursery slash second bedroom where D was still working. I grumbled about not doing any work, dragging my laptop towards me. We started talking about things one talks about when they are parents and trying to make a life together.

And then five minutes later a small voice called from the other room, ‘Mamaaaa! Mamaaa!’

We laughed, because it’s the first time he has done that. I got up and went to him. He was sitting up on the bed, smiling at me.

D closed the office slash nursery slash second bedroom door, as he had a meeting.

I sat on the floor, feeling heavy and deflated. Baby ran around the bedroom making a mess and being joyful. He grabbed all his books from the windowsill and made a little hill out of them which he attempted to climb. Then he picked one out and spread it open on his little legs and began to read in gibberish. Some real words made their way in there too.

‘Ann done!’ he clapped for himself, slamming the book shut. All done.

My friend called. I debated whether to answer. I had to work, I had to cook dinner, I had to sort out the baby clothes, I had to clean the room.

I answered. We hadn’t talked in weeks, so it was a good catch up.

Then it was 6pm. The room was messy. I’d been playing with the little one. D finished his meeting and took over. I was still on the floor, feeling achey and tired.

I pulled myself together, got up. Went downstairs. Made cauliflower cheese and mashed potatoes, with a side of fish fingers. D and our little came down, tidied up downstairs. We had dinner. We cleaned up. Baby boy ran around. D played tag with him. Then he began running up and down the stairs, in the slow and stumbling way little toddlers do. Lots of chuckling ensued.

Then it was bedtime. Wash, brush, PJs, books. Left him with his dad, closed the door. Sat down to work. Baby boy crying for 15 minutes straight before I went in there. He was sitting on his dad’s chest, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘He wants you,’ D said, looking drained.


Ok. It wasn’t my turn to put him to bed so I felt stressed out and irritable. NO WORK was done. That means an all nighter which, in my state, I am not equipped for.

‘Ok.’ I said. ‘Let’s switch.’

‘Are you sure?’ D asked.

‘We can’t have him sobbing himself into a state. He won’t sleep. Then we’re really screwed.’

I put him to bed. It took two hours. At 10pm I stumbled out again, and sat at my laptop. I tried to work until 2:45am. Not much got done. I felt groggy and achey.

At 3am I fell into bed. D was sleeping soundly.

At 7am the alarm went off. D got up in a rush to start a meeting.

At 8am he popped his head downstairs where I sat, trying to work while the little ate porridge around me.

‘Hey’, he said, ‘We were married seven years ago yesterday.’

‘Is that so.’ I said, absently.

‘Yeah. Have to run.’

Up he goes to another meeting. Tap tap tap I go on my laptop.

Crash, goes something in the kitchen. The little one is pulling saucepans out the cupboard.

I think I will let him.

Today’s a Day


He hates hearts. I don’t know why. Credit: Jennifer Bishop

Well hello. Today is a day, folks. I got married two years ago today.

My husband commutes to work. It’s 1.5 hours drive there and 1.5 back, so three in total. It’s a bit sad, because, and this is a little secret, but I am a little crazy. I keep imagining accidents on the motorway and heart attacks (he is 24.) and all the manner of frightening things that will mean that my husband will be taken away from me. So every morning before he goes to work I hug him as tightly as I can and whisper in his ear that I love him, and kiss his forehead, and his nose, and his left cheek, his chin, his right cheek and his mouth. In that order. Then I say ‘drive safe’, as though that will stop an accident happening. I mean, safe driving might help, but mentioning it sure won’t. I don’t know what I would do without him. Death is inevitable, I know, so that is why I savour my time with him (when I am not cross with him, that is).

ANYWAY. It’s been two years! Can you believe it? I can’t

I will stop rambling on because I can talk forever and ever.

Here is an organised list of things I have learnt from two years of marriage.

  1. I am not always right. Even if I am a woman. (You know how the saying goes!)
  2. Women Know. With a capital K. Here is a little anecdote. My husband and I were once waiting to board a bus transporting us to a ferry. The line was long, and everybody was putting their bags in the boot of the bus before going to the back to the queue. My husband didn’t think that was necessary but I said ‘look here my plum, if you put the bag in now, it’s less hassle when we get to the door and we don’t hold people up’. So he went off grumbling, and the old woman in front of me turned to me, smiling, and said with a knowing nod, ‘it’s always the way, isn’t it. Women know.’ I thought that was hilarious.
  3. Stop being so butthurt.
  4. One should make an effort and take care of oneself. When your partner sees you’ve made an effort for them, mountains can be scaled. It’s nice to dress up for yourself (and I do it frequently) but it’s also a nice feeling when you do it to make your spouse happy. I like it when Damian’s face is tidy and he smells nice and looks smart. I like it very much. DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t mean you have to do it all the time or be a good little housewife (or househusband, lol.) of the 50s. You do you.
  5. Fighting is inevitable. Just don’t overthink things. And for heaven’s sake ignore the small things. It’s really not worth the agro.
  6. You don’t have to enjoy the same things to have a good time together.
  7. You really should take time to understand why your spouse doesn’t like something you do. And he you, of course.
  8. It’s okay to make your husband’s sandwiches, if he pulls his weight elsewhere too.
  9. The honeymoon stage doesn’t just ‘end’. It blossoms slowly into something more comfortable, and when nourished, love only grows deeper. Or maybe I am still in the honeymoon stage? Can’t be, though, my husband’s untrimmed toenails are getting me very riled up right now. When this post is published I am going to give him an ultimatum between sleeping in my bed and chopping his nails off.
  10. This one’s from my husband: “You learn more about a person, you see things more clearly, which helps you understand more about life.” I agree. I am learning so much from him and understanding things more, and seeing things in a better perspective.


Well, that was short and sweet, wasn’t it.