Now, I’m no veteran in marriage. Three measley years is pretty darn elementary even in the smallest of comparisons. In fact, if we were comparing it to human lives here, my marriage would (probably) just have learned to use the potty– which someone please tell my two year old that by the way.
So yea, I don’t have much grounds to talk about romance being dead (I mean we’re barely out of the honeymoon phase), but I can tell you one thing for certain… My husband doesn’t buy me flowers anymore.
That stopped quite a while ago, actually.
I check social media and see the extravagant gifts, the “5 senses” boxes, the surprise get-a-ways, the champagne in bathtubs, and of course, the beautiful arrangement of flowers sent “just because”, and can’t help but feel that maybe our romance has died a little. I mean, come on, how hard is it for my husband to sprinkle some rose petals and light tea candles all around the house so I can show everyone how much he loves me?
If I sound like an angry old hag bitter towards romance and elaborate gestures, let me ease your mind a bit. I’m absolutely not– quite the opposite actually. I’m honestly very much in love with the idea of romance and displays of affection. I will like the sh*t out of that picture you posted of the beautiful arrangement he sent you at work (extra points to him if it’s edible). I love it, I really do. I think that’s a beautiful, heartfelt, romantic gesture.
But the thing is, my husband and I have reached the point in our marriage where he just doesn’t come home with flowers anymore.
He doesn’t need to. He comes home with milk.
And that, ladies, is romantic.
You see, flowers will die, but kids screaming for milk when you have none? Those screams last an eternity.
Watching him come home from a day of work with milk (groceries, in fact!) is all I will ever need as reassurance that this man truly, truly loves me.
The romance doesn’t stop there either.
We don’t get many date nights out, but some nights we plot to tell the kids it’s bedtime when in fact it’s much earlier, then have ourselves a drink, sit down together, and watch our shows for an extra hour.
We don’t spend the entire night snuggled up cuddling like two perfect puzzle pieces anymore, but when my nose is a freezing 32 degrees and his back is a space heater, he lets me rest my nose on him while he sits there silently clenched. No protest whatsoever. I can’t show that in a picture, but the love is there.
Some mornings even, I wake up and the coffee machine is set and ready to go. That beautiful blinking red light shines like a beacon of love. Get where I’m going here?
So no, my husband doesn’t buy me flowers anymore, but I can assure you that our romance is not dead. I won’t be posting any pictures of him unloading his truck with 5 grocery bags in hand (even though to me that truly is eye candy), but still know that he loves me deeply.
It’s true. At one point in time we did have our flower phase, and if you’re there now, soak it up. But if you’re ever so lucky that he stops getting flowers and starts getting milk, then congratulations. You, my friend, are loved.