Marriage is so hard. Way harder than parenting, and THAT is hard.
Honest truth: I rushed in, eyes wide open to the possibilities with not a freaking clue to the realities.
It’s hard. All these personality mash ups, all this compromise, years of sleepless nights, weeks of single parenting at a time, weeks of learning to release control when he returns.
This oilfield life is no easy thing.
My wild haired, emotional, expressive self meeting up with his brushed head, even tempered, steady self.
Sounds like a opposites attractive, feels like opposites ignite…frustrations.
But here’s the thing, I still love him. And every day I still choose him. He drives me bonkers and the verdict iss still out if we’re just crazy stubborn or actually compatable.
His level temperament is enough to make my gypsy soul boil and scream. Where is his wild child side? Where is his passion?
And then I realize, it’s me. It’s right by his side.
He is my practical, he is my balance, he is my calm. I am his wild. I am his intensity. I am his fury.
And yes, I still pray daily that he’ll have an emotional outburst and the floodgates will open and words will tumble out.
I had no clue of the realities of marriage; I had no clue to what being an oilfield wife and mom would look or feel like. I had no clue as to how hard it would be to be with a reasonable man, how hard it would be with any man. How much compromise is required, or that I’m capable of giving so much without losing myself.
But even if I had a clue, I would have said “I do” again.
I love him, and I’m stubborn like that. And even though sometimes I wonder if we’ll make it through these years of littles, I know the answer is yes. And I will love him harder. And keep my Bible open, it’s harder to throw that way.
I am his storm, and his can’t cope, wild hair, and gypsy soul, so I’ll let him keep that dang hairbrush. (after all, he’s probably wishing I’d use it)