As I write this, we are coming up for air from a two or three week rut.
Nothing huge forces us into the ditch. We just slowly lose our concentration and drift out of center, ignoring the rumble strips of silence and busyness. Sometimes we sit there for a while before either of us look up and recognize where we are. Sometimes one of us feels it before the other. Sometimes we both feel it but don’t put forth the energy we know it will require to get out of it.
Remember back before “ruts” were a thing? Back when we were madly in love and attached at the hip? Sleeping in different places felt like torture. We must have been incredibly annoying, one of the couples we swore we’d never be. You were never one to dote, not exactly, but you were attentive and I never doubted your affection for me. You would tell me you loved me in a I-don’t-know-what-I-would-do-without-you tone that made my stomach do back-flips.
Back then, I was young and confident. I knew all the right answers. I had pre-pregnancy legs. I had a rear-end that wasn’t reaching for the ground. I got loads of sleep. I was naive and happy in an “ignorance is bliss” kind of way.
That confident, independent woman-child told you things like, “I don’t like romance,” and, “Please don’t get me flowers. They’re such a waste of money,” and, “If you EVER (insert cheesy gesture here), I will run the other way.” I wanted you to know that you weren’t getting involved with one of those “needy” girls.
Flash forward to today. Ten years later.