Welcoming baby number three to the family made my heart want to burst with love. She was the most perfect, sweet, adorable baby ever. G and B loved their pink little baby sister. I felt complete. But the additional work and stress of three kids under the age of 5 seems to throw Daniel into some kind of midlife crisis.

He was no longer content to be at home with us, helping out and just being a parent. He found all kinds of excuses to drink and be drunk. The months ticked by and the kids and I spent a lot of time out of town, visiting family and friends. Just the four of us.

He wants us to move, he’s no longer happy living where we are. He says there are more opportunities elsewhere, even though we both have really great jobs. At that point in my life, I’m absolutely in love with my job. I tell him, go then. If you aren’t happy, go, move, the kids and I are staying here.

The rift between us grows. He’s coming home at all hours intoxicated. Not just a buzz type of intoxication. It’s a stumbling drunk kind of intoxication. It’s a get up in the night and urinate on the bedroom floor kind of drunk. Thinking back , even when I was pregnant with our last baby, he was always getting too drunk. I woke up one night to warm damp sheets, thinking my water had broke and maybe I would be going into labour. But no, it was Daniel’s urine. He was so drunk when he came home that he peed the bed.

I was beyond disgusted with him.

I woke up one night to find he had come home drunk and hungry and was warming food up on the burner of the stove without using a pan. A fire hazard waiting to happen. I was so angry with him. What if I hadn’t woken up ? What if he had started a fire? I shoved him out of anger. He fell down on the kitchen floor. I remember that moment so well. I didn’t feel bad, in my mind he deserved it.

He was just a drunk. Years of being disappointed turned to feelings of embarrassment. So many people in town knew what he was like. People laughed at him while he thought they were laughing with him. I was married to this joke. A guy not many people took seriously.

In my head I was putting more and more space between us. Sometimes before sex I would find some kind of alcohol to take a shot of, to try and numb myself a bit so I could do what we both needed. And always after sex I felt this wave of sadness. What was I doing?

The bigger question was, how could I ever get out of it?