I might have embellished the memory in my head but when we were younger and in the earlier stages of our relationship, we used to sleep touching each other, spooning like bric-a-brac. I can remember how Georgi’s hair used to tickle my face. I had to push it down every time she moved or move closer to her, diving into the tangles. We could lie like this for hours. I remember waking up in the same position I had gone to sleep in, a confusion of legs and arms.
Now when we lie in bed we hardly touch at all. We have a king size extra length and we lie on opposite sides of the bed separated by acres of 400 thread, pure cotton bedding. The reasons for this are 8 and 6, and at home right now with the babysitter. Especially 6 who still sleeps with us, always in the middle. He is a wonder that I will miss when he no longer comes pitter-patting through from his room in the middle of the night. His warm little body a rapidly growing dead weight that will sooner than I dare to believe be fighting for his independence by drinking my beer with his friends and having opinions on politics, art and what constitutes the perfect pair of high-top trainers. But for now he is still there, a little wall of love between the two of us. 8, who will soon be 9, is a wonder too, coming into our bedroom every morning, too early, to wake us up and cuddle in our arms, chatting about this post-modern building she is designing in Minecraft or asking our opinion on what building her Lego city is lacking. Should she build a hospital or a theatre next? Weighty questions at 5 30 in the morning. My heart breaks at the thought of them no longer wanting us in this way.
But while I will miss my arm wrapped around a tiny body that thinks I am the world there are other delights to look forward to. As we lie in bed together Georgi and I, reading our books separated by an invisible 6 who will manifest at some point later in the evening, our subconsciouses programmed not fill the space, we will touch for a moment. Just one finger laying on top of another or a foot that unexpectedly slides next to a shin and then stays there enjoying the contact of this completely familiar stranger. There is the promise of something that has not been forgotten, only put on hold our focus elsewhere at the moment. Both of us devoting our time to making 8 and 6 reasonable human beings.
And I have not forgotten what it is like to touch her, my beautiful wife, to hold her and focus on nothing else, for that embrace to be the whole of the world. It is one the most sublime distractions I know from the ticking clock shuffling us ever closer to that day, whenever it may be.
Marriage is often portrayed in contemporary culture as something to be endured, like Norm seated at the bar in Cheers always avoiding poor Vera, who never gets a chance to defend herself, the old ball and chain waiting at home. Or more recently it has become to be seen as something archaic and quaint. Now we co-habit and enjoy polyamorous relationships, which is fine.
But for me marriage has always be an overwhelmingly positive experience. Every day has been easy even the ones that have been hard and 17 years have flown by in which time I have never questioned my decision to be with this one person, who is the best person I have ever met.
And so I am delighted and excited about my spectacular wife turning 40 because as the kids grow older and more independent there is more time for my foot to get reacquainted with her shin. And of all the people I have ever met she is top of my list of people I want to grow old with. Happy B’day my love.
