Finding Each Other Again (and Again): Connection in the Chaos of New Parenthood
Becoming parents is the most beautiful and bewildering adventure we’ve ever been on. Ten years together—ten years of learning each other, growing, grieving, changing—and yet nothing prepared us for how parenting would reshape us again. Not just as individuals, but as a couple.
The early days of being new parents are a blur of feedings, diapers, sleep deprivation, and sheer survival. We chose to co-sleep with Lowen, something that felt natural and right for our little family, but it has come with its own unique set of challenges. There’s intimacy lost in the shuffle, the constant balancing act between closeness and exhaustion, the middle-of-the-night jostling to make room for tiny flailing limbs. There are days it feels like we’re just passing each other, trading off who chases the baby and who cleans the kitchen.
And yet… somehow, we keep finding each other in the chaos.
It’s in the way we wordlessly exchange who’s got Lowen so the other can breathe for a second. Toddlerhood is next level wild. It’s in the exhausted smiles exchanged across the room when she is climbing on top of the coffee table and the late-night giggles while she’s sound asleep. It’s in the growing up we’re doing—side by side, still choosing each other every day, even when we’re stretched thin.
Watching Grant grow as a father has undone me in the best way. The quiet, gentle way he parents, the silliness, the way Lowen melts into his arms like she was made for them—it’s everything. Lately, I’ve caught them in these moments of pure tenderness and sweet snuggles. And I think: This. This is the life we get to build. This is the love we’ve grown.
I won’t pretend it’s always easy. It’s not. Honestly it’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done. He’s a cool cucumber and I’m a helicopter pilot. We’re still learning how to communicate when we’re both running on fumes and we probably always will be. We’re still figuring out how to hold space for each other, how to ask for help, how to offer grace. But there’s something sacred in the trying. Something holy in the way we keep showing up, even when it’s hard. The “hey, I love you forever” and the kisses goodnight.
Because at the end of the day, we’re still us—best friends, partners, teammates. And now, parents. Still dreaming, still laughing, still dancing, still finding ways to connect and grow in this wild, beautiful, exhausting season.
Being married to Grant has shown me what love really is—not just the butterflies or the big romantic moments, but the deep, steady presence that holds you through every version of yourself. He’s taught me how to be in love, how to be loved, and how to love in return. His love is unconditional, grounding, the kind that lets me exhale and come back to myself, over and over again. When the world feels too loud or I feel like I’m falling apart, he’s there—steady, reassuring me that he’s not going anywhere. Marriage is such an evolution. It’s not always in sync, but it’s a beautiful journey of living and growing, sometimes at different speeds, always with the knowing that we will always be.
Forever grateful for this messy, magical life we get to create together.