This week I decided that with Valentine's Day right in the middle of half term I would ask some of the awesome blogging community to offer their thoughts on some of the areas that we think about when it comes to "love", that way it reduced my work load while I enjoy time with my girls. Today I am sharing a post written by the lovely Lisa from Pass the Prosecco Please, a wife and mother to one three year old son who has been blogging for around fifteen months. It is all about how her husband proposed to her and it really made me giggle so much when I read through it, and I hope it give you a bit of a laugh too. N x
As a child I had always dreamed of my wedding, as all little girls do – and I guess as I got older I'd thought about the perfect proposal. Of course there was the usual dream destinations such as an exotic beach, maybe the Eiffel Tower, or in a ridiculously expensive restaurant (think Lady & the Tramp).
I was never particularly fussed on marriage.
When I met my now husband eight years ago we'd discussed marriage and I'd always been honest about how I felt, I'd kind of always figured I'd just go with the flow.
We moved from the new relationship phase to living together, and then the subject of babies came about. We both wanted children, and at that time I was 26 and he 31, so we decided to started trying for a baby and see what happened.
I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome a long time ago and unfortunately it prevented me from becoming pregnant, and so after a couple of years we started fertility treatment. Infertility is tough – it takes its toll on even the strongest of couples and there is not getting away from the fact that it sucks all romance out of, erm, certain physical aspects.
So by Christmas 2013 we'd just completed a six month run of various fertility drugs and we were run down, tired and feeling pretty beaten. We'd moved into a new house that year so we were looking forward to spending our first Christmas in our new home and enjoying ourselves as best as we could. Christmas Day we woke up stupidly early – I'm like a child at Christmas and I get so excited, so we came downstairs, opened our presents and all the usual things.
Husband, who was acting strangely was doing my head in. I wanted to go and get dressed... he kicked off. I wanted to tidy up... he kicked off. I remember having a short, sharp exchange of words where I asked him why he was being an idiot, to which he stomped off upstairs.
Happy days, a row on Christmas Day.
Our cat also wasn't very well, and I was already writing the day off. Grrrr. When he came back down he apologised and told me that he was sorry and also he'd forgotten one of my presents. He asked me to shut my eyes, and when I opened them, he was on one knee. Just at that moment, when I clocked the ring and realised what was happening, the cat projectile vomited all over the carpet, swiftly followed by the worst 'opposite-end' explosion I've ever seen.
Did it ruin the moment?
Absolutely not, we often talk about it and laugh; it makes a talking point even four years later.
I often think back to my childhood dreams of luxurious proposals in far-flung locations, and I laugh – because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter where, how, or when, it's what is special for you...
... and our special moment was in our dressing gowns, surrounded by cat vomit.
P.S. I started 2014 by planning a wedding and dreading the impending fertility treatment in the coming months. We set the date for May 2015, booked the church, and so the bridezilla stress began.
March 2014 I went in for an operation. I’d been poorly for a month or so and there were concerns on what was going on. Turns out there was a reason for my being ill. In November 2014 we welcomed a baby boy into the world, much to our delight and surprise.
We married in May 2015 as planned with an unexpected page boy!