I Still Really Like My Husband

On dating each other in the middle of the most wonderful, exhausting years of our lives

A few weekends ago, Danny and I spent the night away from our kids.

Leaving your children overnight when you have a three-year-old and a baby who still nurses isn’t exactly a spontaneous romantic getaway.

It’s more like preparing for an international transfer of power.

There are schedules. Food. Milk. Bedtime instructions. Pajamas. Loveys. Someone you trust enough to hand over the two most important humans in your life. And in my case, a breast pump because apparently even when you leave your baby, your boobs do not get the memo.

But somehow, we got out the door.

That night, we were walking to dinner at The Wilds when Danny reached over and grabbed my hand.

And I had this weirdly simple thought:

Oh yeah. I used to date this guy.

Before he was Dad.

Before I watched him become the father of our kids.

Before we divided and conquered bedtime, discussed preschool schedules, and regularly asked each other questions like, Did Henry poop today?

He was my date.

And I really liked dating him.

I still do.

Most of the time.

Because here’s the thing: this stage of life is magically, wonderfully hard.

There are moments when I look around at our life and genuinely can’t believe it’s mine. Two little kids we wanted so badly. A house full of toys and noise and tiny shoes everywhere. Family walks before dinner. Baby giggles. A three-year-old saying something completely unhinged that makes both of us laugh.

This is it.

This is the life I wanted.

And holy shit, it is exhausting.

Someone always needs something. Usually two someones need something at the exact same time. There are meals and diapers and baths and preschool and nursing and laundry and work and a house renovation because apparently we decided our lives weren’t chaotic enough already.

There are nights when Danny and I function less like a married couple and more like coworkers at a severely understaffed company.

You take Charlotte. I’ll take Henry.

Did he eat?

Who’s doing bath?

Can you grab pajamas?

She’s out of bed again.

Did you start the dishwasher?

And somewhere in there, the person you chose to build a life with can start to feel like another person on the logistics team.

But Danny was my date before he was their dad.

I love watching him be a father. There are things about him as a dad that have made me love him in entirely new ways.

But I don’t want Mom and Dad to completely swallow Katie and Danny.

I think I’ve always pictured “dating your spouse” as something that requires a babysitter.

Make the reservation. Put on real clothes. Go somewhere. Have uninterrupted conversation. Try not to spend the entire dinner talking about your children.

And yes, please.

I want all of that.

But those nights aren’t particularly easy to come by right now.

So somewhere along the way, dating each other started looking a little different.

Danny makes my coffee every morning.

He doesn’t drink coffee.

There is absolutely nothing in this arrangement for him except knowing that his wife will be a significantly more pleasant person once caffeine enters her bloodstream.

A few weeks ago, he randomly bought two new board games for us to play after the kids went to bed. Nothing elaborate. Just something for us to do once Mom and Dad clocked out for the night.

When he gets home from work, we take family walks before dinner. We’re pushing a stroller and parenting the entire time, but we’re also talking. Catching up. Being together.

Our weekends revolve around football. Buckeyes on Saturday. Bears on Sunday—or Monday night when the NFL schedule is particularly inconsiderate of parents with young children.

The kids are right there with us. Someone inevitably needs a snack during an important play. We miss half the game.

But they’re our things that are slowly becoming our family’s things.

And every night before we go to sleep, Danny and I kiss three times.

Always three.

We do it when we’ve had a great day.

We do it when we’re exhausted.

We do it when one or both children have absolutely broken us.

And we do it when we’re annoyed with each other.

Even when we don’t particularly want to.

Because sometimes you don’t particularly like the person you’re married to.

There. I said it.

Sometimes the person you’ve chosen to spend your life with is also the person currently driving you absolutely insane.

Sometimes one of us says the wrong thing at the end of a very long day. Sometimes we keep score when we know we shouldn’t. Sometimes we’re both exhausted and neither of us has much patience left for the other.

And then we kiss three times anyway.

Sometimes I’m still annoyed after kiss number three.

But somewhere underneath whatever happened that day, we’re still us.

And I’m starting to think this is what dating each other looks like right now.

Not constantly trying to escape this stage of life so we can reconnect.

Finding each other inside of it.

The weekend away was wonderful. Getting dressed up. Walking to dinner holding hands. Waking up without a child needing one of us.

For a little while, we weren’t Mom and Dad.

We were just Katie and Danny.

But the funny thing is, I don’t think the weekend reconnected us.

It made me notice all the ways we’re already staying connected.

The coffee.

The board games.

The walks.

The football games.

Three kisses before bed.

These aren’t grand romantic gestures. They’re barely romantic gestures at all.

They’re just tiny ways of saying: Hey. I’m still here. You’re still my person.

And right now, I think that’s enough.

Because I don’t want to rush through these years to get to a stage where dating my husband is easier.

I want to be in these years.

These are the years when our kids are little. When our house is loud. When someone always wants to be held. When we’re tired and stretched thin and needed constantly.

These are also the years of baby giggles and tiny pajamas and family walks and watching our children become actual little people right in front of us.

They’re magical.

They’re wonderful.

They’re really hard.

And thank God I get to do them with someone I really like.

Someone who knew me before I was Mom.

Someone who is building this whole ridiculous, beautiful life right alongside me.

Someone who makes my coffee.

Someone whose hand I still want to hold walking to dinner.

Someone I love very much.

And, thankfully, someone I still really like.

Even on the days when I don’t.

P.S. When I went looking for a picture of the two of us for this post, I realized we've taken approximately twelve photos together since Henry was born. Meanwhile, my camera roll contains approximately 47,000 pictures of our kids. If that doesn't perfectly summarize this stage of marriage, I don't know what does.