“Old” love looks like greasy hair after two days of skipped showers.
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We’re quick to romanticize first looks and first kisses and the first fleeting moments of any passionate relationship. We love to wax nostalgic about sparks flying and hearts racing and stomachs dropping as if our recollections could erase the instances that fostered what is now considered comfortable.
And while I’m all for reminiscing on the beginning of my passionate, loving, and life-changing partnership, I am much more interested in all the ways our love looks, now.
Now that we’re three years deep and parents to a one year old and fully committed to a life of routine and contentment, I find myself standing in our kitchen, looking at the love we have today. A love that isn’t new or exciting or edgy, but fulfilled and accessible and aging.
“Old” love looks like a surprise note, hastily written on the bathroom mirror. He’s in a hurry to get to work when he writes it, and I’m half-asleep when I read it. It’s a simple reminder that I’m still worthy of a passing thought. It’s an honest whisper that the unexpected doesn’t have to die.
It looks like me giving him the largest piece of steak because I know that is his favorite meal and he can handle an upset stomach far better than I.
“Old” love looks like a lazy, dependable goodnight kiss. He’ll roll over and I will meet him half way, our eyes closed and sleep beckoning with impatient haste.
It looks like an open bathroom door while one person goes to the bathroom, and the other yells the day’s schedule from the kitchen. My voice echoes as I flush the toilet while he shuts the fridge door and packs another bottle.
It looks like shared silence on a lazy Saturday afternoon. When our child is asleep and we have a moment to ourselves, we chose to enjoy the stillness of an otherwise underrated quiet. We feel the space between us, comfortable in knowing we don’t feel the need to entertain.
“Old” love looks like greasy hair after two days of skipped showers.
It looks like dance parties in the kitchen while we both make dinner. He’ll twirl me while the rice cooks and I’ll dip semi-gracefully while the chicken browns.
It looks like two three-fingered whiskeys after a particular trying day when we both look at one another and wonder how we made it through. The dishes are still dirty and the laundry is unfolded and the living room is a disaster, but we ignore it all and tell ourselves we deserve an evening of lazy self-indulgence.
“Old” love looks like my #2 and his #4 at our favorite take-out restaurant.
It looks like sex on the living room floor because we don’t want to wake up our kid. It’s quicker than it used to be and I won’t take off my shirt but the nail marks on his back are just as deep and the passionate kisses are just as intentional.
“Old” love looks like the birthday presents we send to our extended family, and the thank you cards we will fill out after we open theirs.
It looks like the color-coded calendar that hangs outside our bathroom. He knows my deadlines and I know his work schedule and we both know who owes what to each bill we’re individually responsible for.
“Old” love looks like the underwater Super Mario Bros. level that I can’t pass and he can master effortlessly. We’ll arrange a sea of blankets on our living room floor and play the video game that defined our respective childhoods, laughing at failed attempts or jealously congratulating another job well done.
It looks like his muscular chest, rising and falling with carless ease as sleep pushes him toward another day filled with obligations. He sighs slightly as his body relaxes and I know that his warmth will carry me through the night.
So, while we’re quick to romanticize first looks and first kisses and the first fleeting moments of any passionate relationship, I’ll keep looking at my aging love from the comfort of our shared kitchen. I’ll hold onto the ease that comes with an “old” love, grateful that new and exciting and edgy has given way to fulfilled and accessible and aging.
I’ll look at my relationship filled with routine and commitment and contentment, and impatiently wait for all the ways our love will continue to change.
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Photo: Getty Images
Apparently mine looks like we’re roommates who sleep together sometimes.
Sounds like something I’d want.
Still not selling it. That sounds hideously boring.