It’s funny how things change. When we first got married, my expectations for Valentine’s Day were so different from what they are now. I was a typical girl and loved all the conventional trappings of romance (I still like them now, but I’m more open-minded) like flowers, perfume, candelit dinners, some kind of plan or gesture that commemorated the moment.
In reality, I had no idea of what life would be like after kids. I started babysitting when I was 13, and spent lots of time with my younger cousins and friends’ kids. But nothing prepares you for your own and what happens to your life afterwards.
It’s all-consuming, all-encompassing, and wonderfully overwhelming in every way. NO ONE ever tells you that, at the end of the weekend, you will collapse on your bed, in the same yoga pants you wear every day, with the same purple fleece you wear every weekend, with not an iota of energy for anything but a hot bath and a magazine, maybe.
So, what about romance? What about Valentine’s Day?
Now, it takes on a total different meaning. I don’t care about the trappings, the conventions, the rote. On this day, this celebration of love and renewal, I want time. Time with my husband – a moment even – to sit together quietly, enjoy each other’s company and savour what we have created together.
In pursuit of this, my husband and I shared a meal together on Friday night. A rare escape from the lovely chaos. There was candlelight and a delicious dinner, but more important, there was time, just for us.