Posted by Natasha Red on March 4, 2025
Let’s have an honest conversation about marriage after kids, shall we? Not the Instagram version where couples still have weekly date nights and spontaneous weekend getaways. I’m talking about real marriage—the kind where you sometimes realize you haven’t made eye contact with your spouse in three days despite living in the same house.
Mark and I just celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. “Celebrated” is a generous term. We ordered takeout after the kids went to bed, started a movie we both fell asleep during, and exchanged cards we bought at the grocery store that morning. Romantic? Not exactly. But here’s the truth—I wouldn’t trade this messy, exhausted partnership for anything.
What No One Tells You About Marriage After Kids
Before children, Mark and I had fascinating conversations about politics, philosophy, and our dreams for the future. We went to concerts, tried new restaurants, and occasionally spent entire Sundays doing absolutely nothing but enjoying each other’s company.
Now? Our most common exchanges include:
- “Did Emma take her science project to school?”
- “Who’s picking up Jake from basketball?”
- “I think Lily pooped. Can you smell that?”
- “Did you remember to pay the water bill?”
- “We’re out of milk again.”
Gone are the philosophical debates, replaced by negotiations about whose turn it is to handle bedtime and which child is most likely lying about brushing their teeth.
The Roommate Phase is Real
There’s this phase of marriage after kids that nobody warns you about—I call it the Roommate Phase. It’s when you and your spouse operate like efficient but emotionally disconnected roommates, handling logistics and maintaining the household but rarely connecting as partners.
Signs you’re in the Roommate Phase:
- You communicate primarily through text messages about pickups, drop-offs, and grocery needs
- You haven’t kissed beyond a quick peck in… you can’t actually remember how long
- Sex is scheduled (if it happens at all) and sometimes feels like another item on the to-do list
- You fall asleep facing away from each other, phones in hand
- You know more about your kids’ friends than what’s currently happening in your partner’s inner life
Mark and I hit this phase hard when Lily was born. Three kids in, we were drowning in diapers, sleep deprivation, and the logistical nightmare of managing multiple school and activity schedules. We became exceptionally good co-parents but started to forget we were also supposed to be lovers, friends, and confidants.
Small Moments of Connection Matter More Than Grand Gestures
About a year ago, I had a meltdown after realizing Mark and I had spent an entire weekend in the same house but hadn’t had a single meaningful interaction. We were ship-passing co-parents, not partners. Something had to change, but neither of us had the energy (or childcare options) for elaborate date nights.
So we started looking for small moments instead:
The 10-Minute Check-In Every night after the kids go to bed, we have 10 minutes of uninterrupted conversation that can’t involve logistics, kids, or complaints. Sometimes we talk about a podcast one of us heard, sometimes we remember a funny story from our dating days, sometimes we just sit in silence holding hands. But it’s our time, and it’s sacred.
Car Date Conversations We’ve discovered that some of our best conversations happen in the car when we’re alone. Now, instead of using solo drives to catch up on phone calls, we save them for each other. Last week, we sat in the school pickup line 20 minutes early just to finish a conversation about Mark’s work stress without little ears listening.
Elevated Ordinary Moments We can’t always get away for date night, but we can make ordinary moments special. After the kids are in bed, we’ll sometimes eat dessert on the porch with real plates instead of standing over the sink sharing a pint of ice cream with one spoon. We’ll light a candle during our regular takeout dinner. Small things that say, “This moment is different because it’s us.”
The Two-Minute Romance We’ve learned that maintaining physical connection doesn’t require hours of uninterrupted time (which, let’s be honest, doesn’t exist in this season). A two-minute make-out session while hiding in the pantry counts. A genuine embrace instead of the usual distracted half-hug matters. Physical touch, even briefly, keeps that part of our relationship alive during this hands-on parenting phase.
The Unsexiest Things Have Become Acts of Love
In the early days, Mark showed love with surprise weekend trips and thoughtful gifts. Now? Some of his most loving acts include:
- Taking all three kids to the grocery store so I can have an hour alone
- Handling Lily’s stomach bug cleanup at 3 AM without waking me
- Remembering to switch the laundry when I forget
- Making coffee just the way I like it every single morning
- Defending my parenting decisions to his mother (this one’s huge)
And from my end:
- Managing the doctor, dentist, and orthodontist appointments without him having to think about them
- Keeping track of his parents’ birthdays and anniversaries
- Making sure he has time to play basketball with his friends weekly
- Not commenting on his increasingly questionable fashion choices
- Pretending I don’t notice when he falls asleep during family movie night
These aren’t romantic in the traditional sense, but they’re evidence of deep partnership. We’re carrying each other through the exhaustion, one small act of service at a time.
Finding Humor in the Chaos
If there’s one thing that’s saved our marriage during the parenting years, it’s our shared sense of humor. We’ve learned to laugh at:
- Date nights that end with both of us asleep on the couch by 9:30
- Attempts at intimacy interrupted by a child suddenly appearing at the bedside asking for water
- The ridiculous arguments we have while sleep-deprived (“You breathed too loudly while I was finally falling asleep!”)
- The state of our once-tidy home
- The entire concept of “having it all”
Last Valentine’s Day, Mark gave me a card that said, “I still want to hold your hand when we’re 80. But right now, can you hold the baby while I shower for the first time this week?” It wasn’t traditionally romantic, but it made me laugh until I cried because it was so perfectly US in this season.
Marriage as a Long Game
Here’s what I’ve learned about marriage after 14 years and three kids: it’s cyclical, not linear. There are seasons of intense connection and seasons of just hanging on. Times when we’re best friends and times when we’re just co-workers in the family business.
The key seems to be remembering that this intense parenting phase isn’t forever. Our children need us desperately right now, but someday they won’t. Mark and I are playing the long game—maintaining just enough connection to ensure that when the kids are grown, we still know and like each other.
Sometimes I look at him across the chaos of our dinner table—Jake spilling milk for the third time, Emma rolling her eyes at something I’ve said, Lily singing the same song lyric over and over—and catch his eye. He’ll give me that tired half-smile that says, “Can you believe this is our life?” And in that microscopic moment of connection, I remember: this is the person I chose. This is the family we built. This beautiful mess is exactly what we signed up for.
Marriage after kids isn’t what they show in the movies. It’s better and worse and harder and more meaningful than I ever imagined. It’s finding each other in the small moments between everything else. It’s choosing each other, again and again, even when you’re too tired to form complete sentences.
So no, Mark and I don’t have an Instagram-worthy marriage. What we have is real—a partnership forged in the trenches of parenthood, strengthened by shared purpose, and sustained by the belief that underneath the parental roles, the core of US is still there, waiting for a little more time and attention when this season passes.
What about you? How do you and your partner maintain your connection amid the parenting chaos? Share your strategies (or commiserate!) in the comments below.
