Considering expanding your family this year? Here's the honest truth.
“MOOOOOOOOM!” I'm relaxing in the living room when that unmistakable call echoes from somewhere in the house. The funny part? It's not one of our kids yelling for me—it's my husband.
We've been married for nearly a decade. I've held the title “Mom” for fewer than three of those years. We tied the knot when I was twenty, following a whirlwind eight-month courtship. (Quick backstory: We met in Italy during my study abroad semester. He was serving as an Italian soldier.) From the start, we both wanted children. In fact, just three days after our first meeting, we discussed how many kids we hoped to have—and building this family together was always simmering in the background, even as we checked off all the activities that childless young couples are “supposed” to enjoy while we waited for the right moment.
We traveled. We ate out. We hit bars. We launched a business side by side. We spent virtually every free moment in each other's company. We had absolutely no clue how much a baby would alter the equilibrium of our marriage.
Having a child grounded us.
So many of us enter parenthood with a rosy idealism, much like we approach our wedding day. We build expectations around the proposal, the ceremony, the reception, the honeymoon—and we do the same for the pregnancy, the nursery, the birth, and the baby's temperament. Expectations can be harsh, especially when reality doesn't match them. I've also discovered that unmet expectations can quickly sour into resentment, and you're far more likely to hold a grudge against your spouse than against your children.
To borrow something my mother always said, “Children don't fix a broken marriage.” It's tough. It's especially tough when the kids are little and there's plenty of room for irritation (Why doesn't he ever get up with the kids? Why does he get to go out with his buddies? Look at him with those useless nipples.)
Yes, babies will yank your romance back down to earth—with a loud, resounding thud. The same enamored woman who once woke up before her new husband to dab concealer on every spot suddenly becomes an expert at using a contraption that sucks snot out of a baby's nose—with her own mouth. Yet somehow, this unglamorous reality we now inhabit is overflowing with far more genuine love. I'm not claiming expectations are evil (the right ones can be wonderful), but nothing keeps those expectations realistic and therefore achievable like having a baby.
Our child helped us see and love each other from a fresh angle.
Your priorities and expectations shift, but so does the way you perceive one another. Becoming a parent gives you an entirely new identity layered on top of your old one. I am now “Elizabeth: wife, daughter, art historian, professor, and mom.” Strangers at the pediatrician's office, daycare, and even the grocery store address me as “Mom” whenever I'm with my children. At home I'm also “Mom,” “Mommy,” and “Mamma”—not just to my kids, but to my husband as well.
After our daughter arrived, he confessed that this new identity was one of his favorites. Despite the lightning-fast start to our love story, he had never felt more in love with me. I never would have imagined that we'd be calling each other “Mom” and “Dad” while still in our twenties and thirties, but it feels completely natural. I'd even go so far as to say that his role as the fun, loving, enthusiastic “Dad” is one of my favorite things about him, too. Watching him nurture those tiny blends—those fusions—of the two of us is truly our love made visible.
Our baby highlighted life's unpredictability—and pushed us to communicate better.
Life is unpredictable, and marriage, being part of life, is equally full of unknowns. Our wedding vows—”for richer or for poorer,” “in sickness and in health”—serve as both a warning and a reminder of that. Nothing drove this reality home like bringing our newborn daughter home.
Our daughter was born one month before our seventh wedding anniversary. I was deep into writing my dissertation (which I had hoped to finish during my pregnancy—pregnancy brain is real!), and my husband was between jobs. Suddenly the timing seemed dreadful. It was an incredibly stressful period as we found ourselves questioning whether we still had health insurance, whether I would ever complete school, whether he would land another job.
Thrown into this new landscape of uncertainty, we were forced to practice solid communication just to stay connected and to survive. By keeping the lines of dialogue open, we navigated the changes as a team. Your partner, or “better half,” is there to support you—and you them—as you work through the unfamiliarity of it all. Your struggle is their struggle, and the best move you can make is to keep talking, especially when you're in a postpartum fog and can't find words for all those wild new emotions.
Our baby taught us the value of flexibility—and served us a big slice of humble pie.
When we got married, I insisted that we needed a queen-sized bed. It was crucial to me that we be physically close. I declared that once we had children, those children would never be allowed in that bed. I even went so far as to judge other parents whose kids slept in the “marriage bed.” I've now eaten those words and most of the things I said as a non-parent (and I'm now the proud owner of a king-sized bed). The concept of a kid-free “marriage bed” flew out the window pretty quickly after we met our tiny baby daughter, who simply could not sleep alone. For a laugh, ask any parent friend about the things they swore they'd never do. How many parents vowed they would never buy a minivan?
This experience was, honestly, a humbling reminder that we're human—that we truly can't “do it all.” What we came to understand was that those seemingly incomprehensible ways other couples had arranged (or tried to arrange) their new lives as parents were actually survival strategies for themselves and their marriages.
I promise you: There will come a time when you've planned an epic date night, and just as you're heading out the door, your child will have some kind of health scare (vomiting, fever, etc.), forcing you to stay home. In those moments, you have to be ready to adapt, continue the date later at home, or take steps to reschedule. Having a child taught us that marriage flourishes when you master the art of flexibility. Kids or not, things will go wrong, all your plans will be derailed, and at the end of the day, you still have to make your romance a priority.
