The Seven Year Itch…
I guess you could say that my last blog entry was a bit of a
parody, and obviously a little exaggerated. However, I have communicated with a
number of people in the past several weeks about the taboo subject of married
life, and I have to say that there is much more to discuss. I have been married
for almost eight years, and happily so. My husband is my other half, my best
friend, and I don’t believe that there is anyone else out there who is better
suited for me. We fit. I love him. That being said…
At the risk of sounding too cliché, I’m bringing up the good
old saying “men are from Mars, and women are from Venus”. While there is no way
I could point out either one of these planets on a chart of the universe, I
have most definitely discovered that men and women function on totally
different levels. And it totally sucks.
In the beginning of every relationship, there is a certain
newness which awakens the souls of the lovebirds involved. There are fluttering
butterflies in the bellies. Both parties eagerly await the next conversation
they will have with their “Facebook official” boyfriend/girlfriend . I was no
different. When I first started dating Justin, I would persistently check to
make sure my cell phone was getting sufficient service, constantly terrified I
would miss a call, a text, ANYTHING from him. I was a woman obsessed. And I
have to say, he was a man obsessed as well. It was perfect.
As I mentioned earlier, Justin and I just seemed to fit. We
became one person emotionally and physically, never tiring of each other, never
wanting to spend a single second with anyone else on the planet. It wasn’t long
before we were engaged, then married, then parents. And as quickly as we went
from one title to the next, we began changing into the people we swore we would
never become; the people who were “old” and “boring”. He became the typical
male who wasn’t available emotionally, and I became the typical housewife who
always had a headache when it was time to hit the sheets. I think we both
assumed this was just a natural transition, and although it didn’t make either
of us happy, we rolled with it.
In a perfect world, that’s where the story ends. Husbands
keep being husbands, coming home from work ready to relax and not be bothered;
wives keep being wives, eager to pawn the kids off on their husbands the minute
they walk through the door. And everyone is happy. But this is not a perfect
world. These routines and behaviors create a barrier, a wall, between the
husband and wife who were once inseparable. Resentment rears its ugly head, and
bonds are quickly shattered. Pretty soon, your best friend is also your worst
enemy.
I never really believed in the so-called “seven year itch”.
However, it was almost on cue. Right before our seven year anniversary, it’s as
if someone snuck into my room in the middle of the night and injected me with
some sort of crazy lady Viagra. Now, before you go shunning me and telling me I
need to find Jesus, please let me continue. I’m not saying I wanted to go jump
into bed with every guy I saw crossing the street; I just started NOTICING men
again. They’re EVERYWHERE. At Target, at the gym, at the OBGYN’s office… what??
Yes, everywhere. I would catch myself staring, and then just as quickly as I
noticed these cuties, I would mentally bitch slap myself… “Snap out of it,
devil woman!! You’re married!” I
couldn’t figure out where this was coming from. Was it hormonal? Was it boredom
at home? Or, did somebody seriously sneak into my bed and inject me with Viagra?
About a year later, I talked to one of my good friends about
my “problem”. He said something to me that definitely hit home... “Temptation is anywhere you want to find
it.” At first this just made me angry. How dare he insinuate that I was
purposely out there looking at other guys? What an ass face.
That same night at home with Justin, I couldn’t shake the
sick feeling I had building in my stomach. I felt overwhelmingly guilty for my
wandering, unfaithful eyes. I sarcastically laughed at myself as I recalled the
phrase, “I’m sorry, baby. You may have my heart… But you don’t have my eyes.” I
had never really lived this saying until that point in my life. I poured myself
another glass of wine, attempting to drink the guilt away. Then, I decided to
approach Justin, and as is typically the case when I’ve had one too many, the
verbal diarrhea spewed out disobediently.
I can’t remember my exact words, and I’m sure Justin can’t
either since 75% of what I was saying made absolutely no sense. I do recall him
laughing a little as I flew all over the map, starting with the hot guys at the
gym, followed by my suggesting an open marriage, then immediately deciding we
needed to go to church more. Staying on track was not my forte that evening.
However, something I did discover was that I wasn’t flying solo on this one.
I’m not going to throw my husband under the bus on this one, but let’s just say
that his eyes might have been wandering a little as well. And although my
immediate reaction to this information was, “Tell me the bitch’s name. I’ll
stab her in the heart,” I slowly started feeling a sense of relief come over
me. I wasn’t alone! My husband was looking at other women too! Thank the Lord!
Stop. Did you read those last couple of sentences? Yeah,
that’s probably something I shouldn’t be so excited about.
In a fictional story, this is where the author gives you a
solution to the problem at hand, and all of the characters involved live
happily ever after. Unfortunately, I’m leaving you filled with anticipation and
probably a few unanswered questions. Why, you ask? Because, this is not
fiction. This is real life. And you’re going to have to be patient just like I
am, because I don’t have a solution yet. All I have is a seven year itch J
