When Brendan and I met, it was a bit of a whirlwind romance. He was younger, charming, funny. I had a job that at the time gave me access to events and tickets and interesting things to do. He had a job he really loved. We were always busy, always having fun. I had a great relationship with his family, and we talked openly about the future. We wanted marriage, we wanted kids. All the pieces fit. When he asked me to marry him, it was seriously a no brainer. We spent the next year 10 months planning the wedding and honeymoon.

Once our lives settled down, we made the decision to move to be closer to his family, away from the city and the life we knew there. And it was great, at first. We eventually bought our first house, a fixer-upper about 5 minutes from his family and siblings, and settled into suburban life. We were still out and about, still living that life everyone can live pre-kids, still enjoying ourselves.

But Brendan really struggled on the job front. He just couldn’t find his groove, and went through job after job, looking for the right fit. I supported him because I wanted him to find a job that would make him happy. This went on for a number of YEARS. It ate at our marriage a bit, but honestly only a little. I felt his frustration. As someone who has always known herself, I wanted that for him.

Then I got pregnant with our first child. It was a very happy time. We nervously prepped for it as most expectant parents do, played with baby names, celebrated with family and friends. When G was born, our lives were changed in a wonderful way.

And things went back to normal. Sort of. I think Brendan loved the idea of being a father, a family man, but he struggled with the reality of what that meant. It wasn’t about being out and about all the time anymore. It wasn’t just about him. It was WORK. Some days hard work. He loved G, don’t misunderstand, but he seriously mourned the loss of his “freedom”.

And the shit slowly hit the fan from there. Uh-oh. Part III.