Member-only story
Love After Babies
Of course it’s different, but that’s not always a bad thing
Before we owned a home, and before we had a baby, and before we had conversations about grocery lists and cesspool problems and who was going to call the electrician because the tree fell from the hurricane and ripped the main electric line from the house, my husband and I went on a road trip across the country.
Not really across the country, as I was still living in New York, and he was still living in North Carolina, but a modified trip, where we flew to Phoenix and made our way west towards Salt Lake City.
We hiked in national parks. We had margaritas in the middle of the desert under thick Mexican blankets. We learned that even in November, the desert can be cold. We had lengthy dinners over steak and red wine. We stayed up late talking about everything and anything. We woke up when our bodies felt like it.
The days and nights bled into one another, and every moment felt more magical than the last.
Once, when we were in the middle of IVF treatments and infertility setbacks and the whole mess of feelings that fertility treatments can bring, we packed our bags and went out to the Hamptons and did a fancy wine tasting at a local vineyard.
