My Fiancé And I Make A Conscious Effort Not To Talk About The Baby

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marriage after babyOnce you become a mother, chances are you will not remember for the life of you what you talked about aside from brands of diapers, rashes, teething, or extra-curricular activities for older children, how much Tylenol to use for a fever, that your children need new socks, and organizing play dates. You will say to yourself, or at least I have, “If I didn’t have this baby, or children, what the HELL would I talk about?”

This isn’t always the case for me, at least with my fiancé. For EXACTLY two minutes a night, my fiancé and I are the most disgusting, mushiest and gushiest parents in the entire planet. Honestly, you’d puke in your mouth if you heard us talk.

Once the baby and other children are in bed, and we’re in bed (FINALLY! ALONE!) I’ll say to him, “Okay, let’s just talk about Holt for two minutes.”

And that’s exactly what we do.

I’ll start by saying, “He is the cutest baby in the entire world. Don’t you think?”

And my fiancé will say, “Yup. And have you noticed that if you rub your nose on his belly he laughs like a maniac? There’s no better sound.”

And then I’ll say, “He can almost walk. He’s a fucking super star!”

And then my fiancé will say, “I know. He can climb the stairs! He’s so strong! Oh, I and I forgot to tell you the other day, this woman stopped me on the street and told me she just wanted to eat him up and said he was the cutest baby she had ever seen!”

And then I’ll say, “Of course he is! Duh!”

And then my fiancé will say, “He can almost throw a ball! He’s amazing,” and I’ll say, “I can just tell he’s much wiser than most 9-month-olds…So, do you want to watch a movie or something?”

And ALL baby talk will stop. My fiancé and I will either watch a movie, go outside and smoke a joint, have sex, or I’ll read and he’ll play on his iPad. All the while we still talk about other things, like work, our dreams, boring-ass chores, friends, and anything else that pops into our brains that has nothing to do with babies or children.

After those two minutes, it’s like we don’t even HAVE kids (He has two children from a previous marriage. I have one. And together my fiancé and I have the aforementioned most-adorable-baby-on-the-planet.) After our two minutes of talking about how fucking cute and brilliant our baby is, we really do spend the next couple hours, before passing out, talking about people or work or anything else that is bugging us.

We laugh. A lot. And not about our children. And, thank god, because, honestly, most of the time when I get together with my family or his family, all we talk about is children, children, children, baby, baby, baby.

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