Nora on Marriage

Having a first child is like throwing a hand grenade into a marriage.

—Nora Ephron, Heartburn

I’ve been reading a lot about Nora Ephron recently. Her death shocked and saddened the entire island of Manhattan, the country, and perhaps the world. I have yet to read Heartburn, her 1983 roman à clef about husband, Carl Bernstein and their divorce, but I did come across the above quote. I couldn’t have said it better, and I’ve been trying for months!

Harry’s only been in the world for a year and half, but it feels like decades have gone by since Ross and I have had a conversation about anything but the little guy. We’ve become “those” people who go out to dinner sans child and talk about their child. I think, or rather hope, that it’s unavoidable. I spent 31 years considering mostly myself, and then one day I was in charge of keeping another human being alive. Not only alive, but educated, well-adjusted and good-mannered. Needless to say, Harry occupies most of my thoughts, and if I’m not thinking about him, I’m thinking about work and/or how to get more sleep. Ross-thoughts have taken a back seat.

Then, last weekend, Ross and I had the opportunity to spend some time alone. We had to fly to California for a wedding, and we left Harry at my parent’s house.

I had been excited about this trip/wedding since my friend got engaged two years ago (pre-Harry). About six weeks into Harry’s existence, when I was getting peed and pooped on, waking up every three hours, and as my ob-gyn put it, “mourning my old life,” my excitement level for the big day skyrocketed. I figured I only had 16-months left before Ross and I could resume our old life together.

What I didn’t realize all that time ago is that by the time our big trip to California rolled around, my adjustment to parenthood would no longer be in the adjustment stage. I’m not saying that now I’m a perfect parent, I’m just saying that having Harry in my life is no longer traumatic. It’s actually enjoyable. That said, I’d be lying if I told you that it was tearful good-bye last Friday when we bid Harry adieu. Ross and I were pretty psyched to spend three whole days with just each other and, of course, our friends. It’s the most alone couple-time we’ve had since Harry’s arrival.

As excited as we were, the car ride to JFK was silent. I chalked it up to the fact that it was 6 in the morning. When we got all the way to the gate though, and still hadn’t conversed about anything save for our departure time and if Harry missed us, I began to worry. I made a few desperate attempts to ask Ross about his work and his friends, but our time at JFK wasn’t like the old days. I was disheartened.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ross said when we boarded. “We just need to adjust to each other.”

“But I don’t want to have to adjust to you.”

Ross smiled at my rebuttal, put his earplugs in, and closed his eyes.

As the weekend progressed, I realized that Ross was right. After 20 months of not spending any time alone with one another, it took a little over 24 hours to find one another again, which was semi-painful, but (once it happened) wonderful.

I figured that after getting hit by a grenade, we were pretty lucky not only to have made it out alive, but to still be in love with one another.