Why being married comes with a catch

This week I celebrated my eighth wedding anniversary, and this year, I actually felt rather festive about it, posting nostalgic pics on Facebook, and remembering to buy a gift and card (never normally my strong point.)

In previous years, I’ve had less to celebrate. On the first, I was heavily pregnant; the second, Tom lost his job, and we lived precariously for several after this. Five, we had reached a hump (and nearly split up, it being, fairly appropriately, seven years since we first got together). Seven was reconciliatory, and now, at eight, we’ve hit our stride. Life is plain sailing, both of us with a good income,  jobs we like,  kids who no longer scream the house down at every available opportunity (and who can be quite good company a lot of the time), as well as several irons in the fire to keep the spirit of optimism alight. We are both still young-ish, with lots to play for. So for the time being, we are for the most part pretty content.

But that’s the rub. Sometimes it can still feel pretty stifling, spending the best part of your time in just one other person’s company. Don’t get me wrong, it’s reassuring to know I will rarely be alone. But what if I want to hang out with other people? That’s where it can get tricky.

Tom’s always been a fairly open-minded fellow. He never tells me what to do, or tells me off if I go, temporarily, off the rails. He puts up with my foibles, moods, lazy-tired selfishness and iPhone addiction. He tells me I’m beautiful even when patently I’m not, and has stood by me where many might not, including the tortuous years of post-baby strife. I cannot complain. I love my husband. He is a trooper. But he can also be just that little bit irksome. Like a fun dad at a party, sometimes, I just want to grab my shoes and run.

When you’ve been with someone for a decade, over familiarity can be a problem, and I’m not just talking bedroom. I know how he is when he’s drunk, tired, animated and stern. I know how he is on a Friday night, and a Monday morning. Most of the time this is a good thing (when you’re a manipulative female who likes to get her own way, as I can be). But it can also feel routine, and there is no greater passion killer.

Oh, yes we can shake things up and go out on date nights, escape for a city break or go gallivanting at a festival. We should and we do, as much as we can. But there’s more to it than that. Sometimes, you just need new chat. You need the opportunity to present yourself in your best light to someone, not to wear your “at home” head, complete with face mask and PMT, a mountain of washing to divvy up between you.

Being married can be boring. There I said it. At our anniversary dinner, since our childminder had absconded on vacation, I was glad we had the kids to field, tiresome as they were that night, in order to distract us from having little to say. Once pleasantries are out the way, logistics are in order, plans have been discussed and work has been caught up on, we’ve done on the conversation front. He’s not interested in my politics, and reads my thoughts through my blog. After that, there’s not much I have to say.

At eight years my senior, he’s fairly happy that I have an inner life of my own, and an outer one for that matter – as it gives him less to worry about – that I might be lonely or bored – and gives him a chance to decompress after work with a beer and the football, now his job’s stepped up a gear or two. In fact at the moment, that’s our saviour – he goes away on business trips, (I’m fairly confident this is not a euphemism, but even if it was, I probably wouldn’t mind that much) and over the summer they are happening every other week.

In the past this would have been daunting. With a challenging child, and a sleep debt that literally took years to repay, an uphill career mountain to climb and piecemeal childcare, being made redundant turned out to be the best things that could happen to us, as it enabled us to shuffle the kids between us and get them through the early years. When he went back to work, Tom was only a ten minute cycle away and his early starts meant he could do the evening shift, and have dinner on the table when I got home from work. So much, so equality. Our very solidity is founded on the fact that he likes doing the stuff I don’t and vice versa. He cooks, I clean and thus marital harmony is achieved.

But, as we both found our niches, so we moved apart, first into separate bedrooms to maximise on sleep and then to working worlds that very seldom connect. The business trips are the icing on the cake, and not in a bad way. For two days, I get to be ‘slob out fun mum’, doing my duty by sloping out of work early to pick up kids from activities I never get to see them do otherwise, eating fish and chips rather than cook, and letting the kids stay up late for company, then heading round the neighbours for a quiet glass of wine safe in the knowledge I can still yell to Jonah to turn his light out.

Tom comes back if not exactly refreshed, then at least happy to see us; I feel smug at having pulled more than my weight for a day or two and we play happy families, and, most of the time, mean it. Having a bit of freedom, both to be better, worse and be yourself is perfect, and may very well be the key to a happy marriage.

But even that doesn’t stop me want to hang out with other people from time to time. The restrictions of marriage may be self-imposed, or societally-enforced. But they’re not hard and fast if you don’t care what outsiders think. By being open and honest about marital escapism, it raises far fewer eyebrows than if either of us were being surreptitious about it, or sneaking around behind each others’ back. And I’m not talking about sex either, you prurient lot. More just a bit of a life outside that’s yours alone. And now the kids are that bit older, I feel perfectly justified in grabbing it back, once in a while.

Honesty is the best policy, but to be honest, you’ve got to trust you won’t upset anyone by telling the truth. And the truth is, everyone likes to please themselves, every once in a while. It makes it so much easier to please someone else the rest of the time.