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Marriage after kids…it ain’t pretty

1
Pre kids, me and Rob lived in London (Fulham dontcha know). I often bought beautiful clothes from All Saints and we used to meet up on the South Bank after work for date nights and go to dead fancy restaurants.

Post kids, we live in Whitley Bay. I buy very mediocre clothes from Sainsbury’s and we sometimes get takeaways…as long as we feel confident we can stay awake long enough to eat them.

Pre kids, we used to have long lie ins on a Sunday, go for a run along the Thames then have a delicious brunch (I don’t know who the frig we thought we

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2
were).

Post kids, we get up at an ungodly hour every Sunday, pretty much the middle of the night. Then we run ourselves ragged getting the kids to football related activities, then we go to ’The Harvester,’ and try to make the buggers eat something, whilst crying ‘we brought this on ourselves’ tears into our ‘free re-fill’ salad bowls.

Pre kids, we were best friends who laughed at each other’s jokes and snogged the faces off each other without any alcohol being needed.

Post kids we’re like wardens in a young offenders unit.

SelfishMother.com
3
Colleagues who are  rarely on the same shifts. We give oneanother handover notes with minimal eye contact:

‘Prisoner A stole Prisoner B’s ’Match Attacks’. Prisoner B staged a dirty protest. Prisoner C’s hunger strike ongoing.’

Our family life is run with military precision now. The ultimate crime I can commit is to not put something on the calendar then expect I’ll still be able to do it.

Putting shit on the calendar is one of Robs stay-sane rules.

Pre kids, I don’t think we used argued… or if we did it was the kind of

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argument that ended up with you laughing, then necking on a bit, then forgetting it.

Post kids, the arguments are lethal. Monufuckingmental. Especially in the first year of a new baby. The worst happen in the middle of the night and could usually be boiled down to:

Man: I have to go to work tomorrow so you’ll have to see to that screaming child.

Woman: Yes, you get to go to work you lucky bastard.

I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve dropped the c-bomb on each other during these 3am moments. If that word was uttered in daylight

SelfishMother.com
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hours we’d be off to the divorce courts…but for some reason in the middle of the night, it’s in for a penny, in for a pound.

Life with three kids is RELENTLESS. Incessant chores whilst answering Jonahs non-stop questions on whatever he’s obsessing over this week. By the time it’s 7.30pm and the kids are in bed, married life can resume. We can light a candle, cook a meal, talking about our day and really listening.

OR, we can be like zombies tidying up mountains of stuff. Then I run out of battery and lie face-down muttering; ‘I’m tired.

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My hair is tired. My nails are tired. I am BONE TIRED.’

For those of you without kids who are thinking, ‘That sounds fucking hideous, pass me an elastic band so I can tie my tubes !’, let me reassure you. It IS hideous… but parts of it are glorious. And every six months one of the kids does something heart-melting, and there’s this gorgeous, fuzzy moment where your heart might burst. The insanity is worthwhile. That moment passes quickly but it’s ok…only six months for another one!

Rob’s better than I am at remembering to keep the

SelfishMother.com
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marital harmony intact. He tells me I look ‘well fit’ which is sweet but also a lie because until I get my slap on I look like the ‘Get off my traaaiiiinnn!’ guy from ’Ghost’.

Rob, still says it, bless him. On the rare night out, we’re surprised how much we like one another. We laugh at each other’s shit jokes. Although one of us inevitably gets our phone out and we end up watching videos of the kids.So Robbie, on this our tenth wedding anniversary I want to say thank you for our fabulous, chaotic, messy life.

I still love you, more

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than ever.  I’m just too exhausted to bang on about it.

We’ll have some lovely, quality time together once they’re all off to university. September 2035? I’ll make sure it’s in the calendar.

 

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PearlsofKiddom

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- 6 Dec 17

Pre kids, me and Rob lived in London (Fulham dontcha know). I often bought beautiful clothes from All Saints and we used to meet up on the South Bank after work for date nights and go to dead fancy restaurants.

Post kids, we live in Whitley Bay. I buy very mediocre clothes from Sainsbury’s and we sometimes get takeaways…as long as we feel confident we can stay awake long enough to eat them.

Pre kids, we used to have long lie ins on a Sunday, go for a run along the Thames then have a delicious brunch (I don’t know who the frig we thought we were).

Post kids, we get up at an ungodly hour every Sunday, pretty much the middle of the night. Then we run ourselves ragged getting the kids to football related activities, then we go to ‘The Harvester,’ and try to make the buggers eat something, whilst crying ‘we brought this on ourselves’ tears into our ‘free re-fill’ salad bowls.

Pre kids, we were best friends who laughed at each other’s jokes and snogged the faces off each other without any alcohol being needed.

Post kids we’re like wardens in a young offenders unit. Colleagues who are  rarely on the same shifts. We give oneanother handover notes with minimal eye contact:

Prisoner A stole Prisoner B’s ‘Match Attacks’. Prisoner B staged a dirty protest. Prisoner C’s hunger strike ongoing.’

Our family life is run with military precision now. The ultimate crime I can commit is to not put something on the calendar then expect I’ll still be able to do it.

Putting shit on the calendar is one of Robs stay-sane rules.

Pre kids, I don’t think we used argued… or if we did it was the kind of argument that ended up with you laughing, then necking on a bit, then forgetting it.

Post kids, the arguments are lethal. Monufuckingmental. Especially in the first year of a new baby. The worst happen in the middle of the night and could usually be boiled down to:

Man: I have to go to work tomorrow so you’ll have to see to that screaming child.

Woman: Yes, you get to go to work you lucky bastard.

I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve dropped the c-bomb on each other during these 3am moments. If that word was uttered in daylight hours we’d be off to the divorce courts…but for some reason in the middle of the night, it’s in for a penny, in for a pound.

Life with three kids is RELENTLESS. Incessant chores whilst answering Jonahs non-stop questions on whatever he’s obsessing over this week. By the time it’s 7.30pm and the kids are in bed, married life can resume. We can light a candle, cook a meal, talking about our day and really listening.

OR, we can be like zombies tidying up mountains of stuff. Then I run out of battery and lie face-down muttering; ‘I’m tired. My hair is tired. My nails are tired. I am BONE TIRED.’

For those of you without kids who are thinking, ‘That sounds fucking hideous, pass me an elastic band so I can tie my tubes !’, let me reassure you. It IS hideous… but parts of it are glorious. And every six months one of the kids does something heart-melting, and there’s this gorgeous, fuzzy moment where your heart might burst. The insanity is worthwhile. That moment passes quickly but it’s ok…only six months for another one!

Rob’s better than I am at remembering to keep the marital harmony intact. He tells me I look ‘well fit’ which is sweet but also a lie because until I get my slap on I look like the ‘Get off my traaaiiiinnn!’ guy from ‘Ghost’.

Rob, still says it, bless him. On the rare night out, we’re surprised how much we like one another. We laugh at each other’s shit jokes. Although one of us inevitably gets our phone out and we end up watching videos of the kids.So Robbie, on this our tenth wedding anniversary I want to say thank you for our fabulous, chaotic, messy life.

I still love you, more than ever.  I’m just too exhausted to bang on about it.

We’ll have some lovely, quality time together once they’re all off to university. September 2035? I’ll make sure it’s in the calendar.

 

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PearlsofKiddom

Frazzled, frantic mother of three little boys. We live on the north east coast and I blog about the ridiculous minutiae of our everyday lives. I know everyone reckons their kids are funny...but seriously...mine are the funniest. If you enjoy my blogs, there are loads more little snippets of craziness (at the expense of my unsuspecting husband and kids) over on www.facebook.com/pearlsofkiddom Hope to see you there :)!x

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