I’m feeling a little dreamy this morning after a romantic night with my hubby, so pardon the self-indulgent gush. We have been seriously negligent in the dating department. If we manage to get a babysitter, it is usually because we need one, not because we want one (ie, we have a date) . I had a dear friend over yesterday and we were discussing a bunch of stuff, and we started to discuss wine. I told her about a certain kind I discovered on the Okanogan last summer during holidays. A red that you chill. I was perfect for hot summer nights, you can only buy at the winery, so I thought. Ryan and I planned to put the kids to bed that night and make ourselves a grown up, non child influenced dinner then play back gammon. Something we use to do together when we were first dating. When Ryan came home, he had a bottle of wine, that very same one I had talked about earlier in the day. He found a store that carried it. A very romantic gesture that could be responsible for my slight headache this morning.

Brownie point #1 He remembered something I like.

Brownie point #2 He realized last night was meant to be special.

Brownie point # 3 He went a little out of his way to make it happen.

We made our first attempt at blackened chicken together, kid free. Then I creamed him in a game of backgammon. The next game I let him recoup some of his ego. We talked about big decisions in life and fluff. The important thing, is that we connected and made time for us. I know we could/should have been doing this all along, but many can relate, life takes over, kids take over and then all of a sudden you wake up beside the man in your bed and you wonder, who the heck are you? (Just kidding, it was not quite that bad)

Ten years of marriage puts a lot of history behind you. We have gone through a lot together, probably the hardest was the five years of infertility when we were trying for our second child. Nothing like infertility to snuff passion in a marriage. When it goes on for five years, it is a version of hell. Now, eighteen months post miracle baby, I have realized that we need tending. When a couple experiences infertility, sex becomes the enemy. The very thing that brought you together as a man and wife starts to wear an ugly face. Sex failed me. Made me feel like a failure. My non-baby producing body reminded me of that fact every twenty-eight days. I. Am. A. Failure. (note: I don’t feel that way anymore, that was a hormone induced sea of self-pity)

It wasn’t fair what happened, but in the end, God produced a miracle for us and in that, a string of miracles unfolded, of course the best was my smooshy baby boy Oliver. After five years of treatments, standing on my head (infertile women will understand this one), hundreds of pregnancy tests, we are moving forward. We won’t be having anymore kids. We are done that part of our story. I am excited to move into the rest of our lives. We could simply exist through the rest of our time together, or we could make it the best. In thirty years I want to be one of those adorable couples in IHOP holding hands over our senior specials asking for our third free refill on coffee, winking at each other for our audacity to take advantage of IHOP’s bottomless coffees.