To be completely honest, I just wanted a one-night stand with the new Irish bloke that had recently started working in my office.
I thought he was fit, and I am a sucker for an Irish accent. I didn’t even refer to him by his name for the first month, instead calling him ‘Dublin.’
I was, and in lots of ways still am, that girl who is uncomfortable with any type of tenderness, will spit in the face of ever needing anybody and is absolutely terrified and repulsed by emotional intimacy.
I hate soppiness, I will positively beg for romance, but then when a moment is actually created, I will undoubtedly end up feeling like a bobble head doll, totally awkward, completely clumsy and usually absolutely detesting every single second.
I was that self-despising and arrogant girl, who’s self esteem was based solely on how thin she was and on having a boy, any boy who wanted her really, preferably one with an Irish accent to be honest, in her bed.
I was also that drunk and soiled girl who loved but also failed to understand why people hated her, who danced to her own loud and irritatingly repetitive beat and thought that being cool was not caring about anything and ignoring those who loved her.
I was a mess but I thought I had it all sussed.
Sure, there were times in my life that I had dreams of marriage but they were just that, dreams. I would dream just as easily of being a megastar pop star and dating Ryan Reynolds. I knew they would never actually happen.
When he walked in to my life, looking a lot like ‘the son of god’ in his white linen pants, with his bearded face and a tattoo of the crucifix on his forehead (joking.) All I wanted was to shag his brains out and then forget all about him.
** He is looking at me aghast as I tell him I have typed this, but I am not sure why, as he already knows this is the case, because when I finally did get to spend the night with him, right after the throes of passion (5 freaking weeks he made me wait, 5 weeks! And yeah the grand kids will hear it the other way around) I told him.
‘You were only meant to be a one night stand.’
And his response to that right now, in this moment?
‘I have never been a one night stand for anyone baby, that’s why I made you wait, Scoped you out, made sure you were gagging for it before I…’
He is still talking but I have stopped listening.
‘Do you remember the time I knelt down beside you at your desk to ask you something, and you sneeze talked and spat green gob all over me and then patted my crotch for no apparent reason? God you wanted me.’
Ok I am leaving the room.
But he is right, god damn him.
He did turn me from a cool confident… slag (I suppose) in to a woman who dribbled coffee down her front, walked in to walls while trying to be sexy, and sneeze spat in his general direction.
I was adamant we were going to take it slow, so of course after I finally slept with him, he never left.
And he annoyed the hell out of me.
All I was interested in was ignoring who I was, ignoring the pain over my brother dying by drinking, swearing, having great sex and having a laugh, and all he was interested in was… ok great sex, and the inner workings of my emotions.
We fought and battled and clashed almost daily.
My blatant denial to discuss my inner being and his blatant refusal to never be a puppy dog and bow down to what I wanted drove me crazy.
We often questioned why we were still together, and even though on numerous occasions I begged him to bugger off, he stuck around like a man made Velcro mosquito.
Pecking my head.
Making me fall in love with him.
There were times I really didn’t want to see a future for us, because he wanted intimacy and all I wanted was to punch him in the face most of the time.
He made me feel and I hated him for it.
Then he let me down.
It was bound to happen at some point.
He may look like Jesus but I assure you he is only a normal man.
I finally had a reason to hate him.
And I was gutted.
And just when it looked like it really all was going to come to an obliterated end, I found myself with an Irish bun in the oven.
And everything changed.
For a brief nine months, all I wanted, needed and got was emotional intimacy. We shared every moment of my pregnancy, I shared with him my heart and my soul and he in turn responded by being an amazing, beautiful person to me.
And then everything changed.
I imploded, we imploded, the world folded in on itself.
I couldn’t cope, I needed him to hear me, understand me and carry me, without me asking.
He is Not Jesus.
He is also Not a mind reader.
Just an Irish man.
A normal Irish man, who likes potatoes and has a penchant for saying ‘Bejesus!’
He couldn’t cope.
We would go days without speaking.
Not a single word.
We would work around the baby, and around each other without uttering a word.
It was miserable, distressing and lonely.
But why would we speak when the only words we could say to each other felt like razor blades being dragged across old scabs?
I couldn’t accommodate myself in to motherhood, to being this whole other person.
I was terrified of his massive Irish family who all wanted to offer support and visit, and cuddle, and chat and laugh.
I hated it.
I wanted to be part of his family, to feel part, but I didn’t know how.
I couldn’t cope with intimacy from him alone and the man has 4 sisters!
I was terrified of them all and resented being thrown in to a world I knew nothing about.
We decided to break up (for the fifty millionth time) the day before I got in the bath and told him I wanted to die.
(I don’t know why I got in the bath to tell him this. I just did. It seemed logical at the time.)
We had nothing in common I told myself, we didn’t understand each other, I didn’t know who I was, and I felt sure my baby would be better off without me.
In the weeks following, while I was in hospital, all the while he sent me flowers, looked after Addison, sorted out work, bills, the house and called me daily to tell me he loved me and wanted me to get better and would do anything for me, I slagged him off in group therapy to anyone who would listen.
And then I listened, and was taught, and started to realise, what I was suffering with wasn’t a choice, but an illness and I began to see how lucky I was to have this Jesus lookalike standing by me, doing my head in, loving me, trusting me and mostly, supporting me through the hardest part of my entire life.
And I also started to realise slowly, that actually he wasn’t a nightmare, he was brilliant, and funny, and loving, and annoying, and arrogant, and precious and supportive, and a fabulous dad and actually still very sexy.
I saw that him not being a one night stand, was meant to be.
And then what follows, a year and a half later, is a trip to Buxton where I am trying out how to be a bitch, he has packed nothing useful because men should never pack bags and Doodle has contracted doggy gastro- enteritis.
I was cleaning up shit from the hallway in our flat (again) when he shouted me.
‘Lexy! Come in here I need you!’
‘Oh what now, for goodness sake! I think Doodle just shat out a tadpole! Can you imagine if it turns in to a shit frog?’
I shuddered at the thought of shit frogs taking over our home and ambled in to the living room.
‘Shit frogs, that’s all we need!’ I carried on, rolling my eyes, before stopping short at seeing Addison standing in the middle of the room holding something in his hand and giggling at me.
‘Poop Frogs I meant, Where is your daddy?’ I asked him confused.
‘Look mummy!’ he shrieked holding up what he had his manky fingers clasped around, closer to my face, so I could get a proper look.
It was a small box.
My heart kind of stopped.
And then in he sauntered in all his ‘son of god’ glory, looking, it has to be said, sexy if not a little terrified.
I was about to speak, I think, but then he shut me up by standing next to Addison and then getting down on one knee. (!!!!!!!)
I honestly thought at one point I was going to vomit all over his head in shock.
And then he just asked me.
I have to be honest, I did raise my hands to my face and gasp (and yes I had washed my hands) but I didn’t look in to his massive fearful eyes and answer ‘yes.’
It was all just so unexpected, and I had been cleaning up shit!!!
He asked me again.
And also, I was really, really shocked!!
‘Hello?’ He asked this time, taking the ring box off Addison and opening it as I just stared at him in disbelief.
‘Really?’ I blurted, ‘you want to marry me? Are you mad?’
And the romantic bastard smiled.
‘Yeah I do, but it is you, who is supposed to be answering me right now, you fucking nut. I love you. Will you marry me?’
‘But I’m a cowbag.’
‘You are a cow bag, that’s true. Will you marry me?’
‘But I am a nightmare!’
‘You are a nightmare that is also true. Will you marry me?’
‘But you want to marry me?’
He may have sighed at this point so I insisted we start over.
‘Ask me again Irish one, sorry ask me again. I’ll do it properly this time I promise.’
Addison had got bored by this point and wandered off.
He asked me again, one last time, beautifully.
‘Yeah I freaking will’ I responded eloquently before screaming and jumping up and down and scaring the absolute hell out of Addison, who was then summoned back from watching Tractor Tom to put the ring on my finger.
‘I love you and want to be with you forever.’ He said as he took me in his arms afterwards. (And I had to stop myself from vomming in my mouth a little bit.)
And Doodle still has the shits.
Ps – I know we could have been up a dobbing great big hill in some park, but I would have hated that. As it was he knew, that seeing me clearing up dog shit would be the perfect time to propose, and he was right.
Because he knows me inside and out and loves me in spite of this, and I know him inside and out and yeah, I think he is all right you know?
We have been to hell, and we have come back. Together.
I love him.
It really it is that simple.
These are the good old days.
PPS – This is for you Irish one because Pink Sums it up better than I ever could…
‘Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say,
Sometimes I want to slap you on your whole face,
There is no one quite like you; you push all my buttons,
Now I know life would suck without you,
At the same time I want to hug you, I want to wrap my hands around your neck, You’re an asshole and I love you,
But I hate you, I really hate you,
So much I think it must be true love, you are my true love.’
God I hope we don’t get infested by shit frogs.