There are a lot of things I want to document during this marriage, Quinn, but the devastation following each of those failed attempts is not one of them. I’m sure you remember how hard it was for both of us, so there’s no point in detailing it.
You know how I always ask you about your dreams? I think I’m going to stop doing that for a while.
Last Sunday when you woke up, I asked you what I missed while you were sleeping. You stared at me with this blank look in your eyes. You were silent for a little while and I thought you were trying to figure out how to relay your dream, but then your chin started to quiver. When you couldn’t stop it, you pressed your face into your pillow and you started to cry.
God, Quinn. I felt so guilty. I just put my arm around you and held you until you stopped crying. I didn’t push you to talk about what your dream was because I didn’t want you to have to think about it again. I don’t know if you dreamt that you were pregnant or that we had a baby but whatever it was, it was something that devastated you when you woke up and realized it was merely a dream.
It’s been six days since that happened, and I haven’t asked you about your dreams since that morning. I just don’t want to put you through that again. Hopefully one day we’ll get back to that, but I promise I won’t ask you again until you finally are a mother.
It’s tough. I know when we got married we didn’t expect to face these kinds of hurdles together. And honestly, Quinn, I try to carry you over them but you’re so damn independent. You try not to cry in front of me. You force your smiles and your laughter and you pretend to still be hopeful, but it’s changing you. It’s making you sad and filling you with guilt.
I know you sometimes feel bad because you think you’re taking away my opportunity to be a father. But I don’t care about that. If you tell me today that you want to stop trying for a baby, I’ll be relieved, because that would mean you might stop being sad. I’m only going through this fertility process with you because I know you want to be a mother more than anything. I would walk through fire to see you happy. I’d give up everything I have to see a genuine smile on your face. If we had to forego sex forever, I would. Hell, I’d even give up cheese to see you finally get your dream of becoming a mother. And you know how much I love cheese.
I would never tell you this because I know part of you would take it the wrong way, but I think my favorite moments in the past year are all the moments when we aren’t home. When we go out with our friends or visit our parents. I’ve noticed when we’re home, you’ve become a little more withdrawn when I touch you or kiss you. It used to be that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, but something changed earlier this year. And I know it’s only because sex has become so clinical between us, that it’s starting to feel routine to you. Maybe even a little painful, because it never leads to what you hope it leads to. Sometimes when we’re alone and I kiss you, you don’t kiss me back like you used to. You don’t turn away, but you barely reciprocate.
You tend to enjoy me more when you know a kiss has to stop at a kiss. In public, you reciprocate and you lean on me and I know it’s a subtle difference, but there’s a difference. I think our friends think we’re the most affectionate couple they know because we always have our hands all over each other. They probably imagine our private life is even more affectionate.
But it’s actually our private life that has stalled. And I am not complaining, Quinn. I didn’t marry you just for the good years. I didn’t marry you just for the amazing chemistry we have. And I’d be foolish to think our marriage could last an eternity without a few tough moments. So, while this year has been our toughest yet, I know one thing with complete certainty. I love you more this year than any year that came before it.
I know I sometimes get frustrated. Sometimes I miss when we made love on a whim, rather than on a schedule. But I ask that even in the times I get frustrated, please remember that I’m only human. And as much as I promise to be your pillar of strength for as long as you need one, I’m sure I will sometimes fail you. My whole purpose in life is to make you happy, and sometimes I feel like I’m unable to do that anymore. Sometimes I give up on myself.
But I just pray that you don’t give up on me, too.
I love you, Quinn. I hope this is the last depressing letter I ever write to you. My hope is that next year, my letter will be full of good news.
Until then, I will continue to love you more and more with every struggle we face than I loved you when all was perfect.