You see, today is my 15th wedding anniversary.
There will be no fanfare, and we were just so amazingly grateful to go out for a couple of hours this morning to see a movie together. But it's not the day that I think is all that important. Either the number of years. I guess it is not time that tells me that I am constantly blessed by my marriage to my husband.
Craig and I have never found staying together a challenge. It's the time apart that we struggle with. Although I can't complain because it is often work and kids that make me realise how valuable our marriage is to me, and just how much I completely love him. It is often moments, like right now when he is not with me, that I notice how much it matters that we are an 'us.'
Craig is often asked about making marriage work with five kids, and how it's even possible to have a surprise 5th child, and his reply (after laughing) is always the same: happy wife, happy life and relationships are 100% each way, none of that 50% business.
Thinking about why I love Craig or why our marriage works so well, I often come back to one moment in time, many years ago, that is truly an example of what I think real love is. It wasn't at our wedding, although that was a beautiful day, it was some time later. Getting married is easy. Being married and doing life together is a whole different story. So in telling you this story, you will know one of my worst moments as a mother, and one of my most loved moments as a wife.
One evening I was losing my mind. Yes, I was really struggling to hold it all together. Lucy was four weeks old and I had to spend the day trialling her on soy milk before she could be prescribed the Elecare (elemental) formula the paediatrician believed she needed. Isabel was not quite 20 months old and Jack was 4 years old. And they were all crying. Lucy had developed eczema all over her body as the result of having a total of 65mls of soy formula. She had been screaming all day as I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried, to get her to drink. Lucy would not drink. Instead she cried. Lucy would not sleep. She cried. And two very little children, who had probably had enough of having a little sister after four weeks of screaming, cried too.
I had held it together all day alone. I made breakfast, lunch and dinner alone, with Lucy in the sling, as I had been doing for a month, as she continued to cry. I got out activities to keep an overactive 4 year old entertained and kept toddler-Isabel safe from harm, giving her all she needed, as Lucy cried. I bathed them all, read stories and got the older two into bed. And still Lucy would not drink or sleep, but she cried.
And then Isabel started crying and calling "mummy." With nothing left, still trying to force feed Lucy, I called out to her that I would be there soon.
And then Jack started to cry and call out. They were all crying and I was alone.
And I was done.
I just couldn't do it anymore. Not. One. Minute. More. Any clear thinking had been used up for the day. I could see nothing but failure, and tears, and not enough.
I remember putting Lucy in the rocker, more out of instinct than anything, and throwing the bottle at the wall. And then I picked up the next closest thing, threw the TV remote, breaking it and ran to the kitchen, beyond the baby gate, separated from them, and sat in the corner and cried.
We all cried.
And then I took a breath, prayed, calmed down, and found the strength to move on. I settled the older children, assuring them that daddy would be home in a few hours to give them a kiss goodnight as they had missed him so very much, and then returned to Lucy. I gave her the formula we already knew she was allergic to, deciding crying and rashes with something in her tummy, was better than nothing. Like clockwork, she passed out at around 11pm and I began the huge task of making some sense of the chaos that had enveloped the house in the process.
An hour later Craig walked in. Without looking up I said "Lucy wouldn't stop crying."
He gave me a hug and told me it would be alright. And then without any fuss Craig went and found an elastic band and tied it around the TV remote, then helped me finish tidying up.
It isn't pretty. There were no flowers or grand gestures. Weekends away are something we have never had. And the idea of date nights are a joke.
But I know he will always get an elastic band without saying a word. Without judgement. Without the need for explanation. And he will just know I need a hug and to be told everything will be alright, even when he is not sure it will be.
Craig is right, it is 100% giving both ways. Love is in the actions, not the words.
Marriage is being able to see the person in all things, in all circumstances, and chose love first. Love before judgement in the not-so-pretty times. Giving when it doesn't seem fair, and giving up the idea that entitled is something that can ever be.
Yes, love is choosing to be completely unselfish. It is choosing kindness when it is hard to. It's choosing patience and truth and letting go. It's choosing washing dishes instead of TV, explaining to children why they must avoid questioning mummy while she is dealing with morning sickness, working yet another double shift, accepting ten years of no holidays, and knowing the exact moment when comfort is all that is needed at a time when there are just no words. And it's living for five years with a remote held together with an elastic band without ever saying a mean word about it.
Today I have been married for fifteen years. It is just another day, like any other ordinary day.
Another wonderfully blessed day, married to the man I know I will love forever.
Jen.
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