My wife

The first time I met my wife, I thought she was worth one. I’m from West Yorkshire, that’s not sexist, that’s a compliment.

Alas, she was seeing someone else. And, more importantly, I was very good friends with her brother. So, we chatted on occasion, but that was it. She wanted me, obviously, as all women do, but we just chatted, and you don’t just steam in and rattle your mates sister. Not round these ‘ere parts.

When I heard she had become available however, I decided to put into operation a fine and romantic plan any Jane Austen novel would have been proud of (of course I haven’t fucking read one, I’m a man, from West Yorkshire). So I asked another friend to ask my friend (wife’s brother) if he minded me asking her out. He said it was okay (because I am great). So I got her number and sent her a text asking if she wanted to help decorate my bedroom. That’s not a euphemism, that was my chat up line!

Six months later, we were engaged (piss easy Mr Darcy, you got it all wrong you fountain paddling gloit). A year later, we were married. It was a great day. The highlight being where she went to bed awaiting my pathetic attempts to shove my drunken marshmallow into anything I could claim might consumate the marriage (her ear, hotel room door lock, one of our passed out relatives), only for me to take an hour saying goodbye to our friends, and her catching me on the way to bed. She growled “get me a fucking whiskey”, and so we returned to the bar, only to stagger to bed (which could have been anywhere) at 3.30am, having got the hotel manager shit faced as t’was his birthday, and having a night with our friends I will never forget. Definitely better than sex with her auntie anyway.

We wanted to try for a baby straight away, but not long passed before the recession kicked in. It kicked me right in the balls, having always worked in construction, I was out of work more times than John Leslie. So we waited. Then in 2010, we had a little girl. Wonderful she is. I have an equally wonderful daughter from a previous relationship, and they could be the same person they look so alike. I am truly blessed with them both. I may write more about them should I really get into this blogging thing, or I may talk about cocks and fannies, and silly bastards who can’t drive, or politicians the fucking cun….

I digress.

We decided to have another baby anyway, despite my always saying I never would after 40, I was only just past the post, and I did want our little one to have a sibling close to her age (My eldest has just gone 18. Yes, I know it’s bad planning, feel free to take the piss).

Just as happened with my two previous kiddiewinks, two pump Tony did the business in record time; my Jimmy tiddlers must swim like Michael fucking Phelps I tell you, and all was well.

That was until my wife started bleeding slightly around 9 weeks. It happens, it can happen all through pregnancy, but we got checked in, got checked out, and got told pretty quickly during the scan “I’m sorry, but there is no heartbeat”.  I was okay at first, despite seeing my wife’s face as upset as it was. I’m a man, I’m from West Yorkshire. I’m studying science, it’s just cells; rapidly forming and splitting cells. Then the nurse asked “Would you like to see it [on the monitor]”. Well, fuck me sideways it was like watching ET die when I was ten. Or when Darren Kent tipped me off his brother’s tractor at 7 and I banged my bastard head on the pavement so hard I looked like John Merrick from behind.  I cried like a school yard cissy (Morgan Freeman there, Shawshank, wonderful).

I’ll tell you something, a miscarriage was nothing to me until that day. Over it in a jiffy “Ah well, these things happen, probably for the best” was my attitude, not in a nasty way, not that I’m insensitive, because I’m not, but because I’m studying science, and have done on and off for years. We’re animals, a bit more advanced than a lot, but it happens every day in nature, to almost every species, until it is gobbled up by a bigger one, or one that wants to chop down that species’ tree.

But that day, that changed. And it changed me. And it sure as hell changed my wife. And the worst part, even after having been through it all with her, the “evacuation” (a most amusing word I find!) and the endless hugs when I was bursting for a piss THERE IS FUCK ALL I CAN DO ABOUT IT.

I could rant on about how I blamed myself because I didn’t really want another after 40, how she felt guilty for a whole host of reasons some of which I can’t even remember they were too ridiculous (but not to a greiving woman). About how I told her not to buy baby clothes “just in case”, but she did, and I didn’t mind, and then the second we got back from “just in case” actually happened she bagged them up to get rid of I could have punched her in the face.

I could rant about how I’m so FUCKED OFF that we can’t sell our house due to the continuing fucking recession (5 YEARS!!!) from years of wankers in charge of the governments (plural) not understanding there is a fucking north to this country which simply cannot support how fast it’s population is growing. And TWAT bankers owned by the taxpayer given a fucking FORTUNE in quantative easing still won’t fucking lend it to first time buyers.

There are many things I could rant about, but there’s no point, because the ONLY thing that truly upsets me is I can’t bring it back, make it okay, and make her have never had to go through it. But I can’t.

And that, is shit.

I’m helpless to do anything about it, and that hurts. It’s demoralising. Men like to know what they are doing, I think most men do.

Many men like a woman to tell them what they are doing, or another man, either at work, or in love. Men like control, in particular, of themselves, and to an extent, of their relationships. I don’t mean like it was years ago, expecting tea on the table at 6 (although this a a bonus), just of having some control over the relationship’s success or failure, and losing control isn’t always easy for a man.  If male pride was where our willies are, a lot more of you women would have smiles on your faces.

But my male pride has gone, it went months ago. All I want to do it make it so she never has to think about it, but, I can’t.

And again, that, is shit.

I don’t know why I’m writing this on a blog, I don’t know what I expect people to say, I don’t think I want any sympathy, perhaps it is just to pass the time and I was too tired to have a wank; I dunno, but I think I needed to, and I don’t know whether to show it to my wife, or leave it here for her to find it. She checks in on me on twitter from time to time, seeing who I’m having a laugh with and to tut at my general dipshittery, so she might well find it.

The baby was due this month, and I know she is thinking about it, and although we talk all the time, we’re very close, it’s not that I can’t talk to her, I can talk to her about anything, it’s like asking someone “how you feeling” when you know full well the answer is “shit”, and my sexy naked chicken dance is wearing thin.

So if you do find it, you cheeky little fucker, I love you dearly. I was there for you then, and I’m there for you now. And if you need me tomorrow, I’ll be there then too.

Or in the pub x

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