Monday I rolled over in bed to come face to face with my little doll-faced cherub. I am keenly aware of the imaginary clock ticking above our heads, and our time of morning time girl snuggles are fleeting. I touched my finger to her warm little nose and she opened her heavy eyes, smiled softly, and then vomited directly into my open mouth, hair and pillow. I can never eat Sweet & Sour Chicken again. That’s a lie, but I can assure you it will be a while.
An hour later Andy called, he’d lost a co-worker unexpectedly and it jarred him. I don’t handle death or emotions well, I become physically uncomfortable and I never know what to do with my hands. Plus, when Andy’s normally chill and even-keeled demeanor changes, it freaks me out, only one of us can be unstable in this relationship and I am used to that person being me. My immediate response was to begin making cakes, because I feel like cakes are better than crying.
Wednesday and three thrown away puke pillows later, Ohio’s latest snow storm sent a giant tree through our roof and into our garage.
We are coming off quite a shit fest, y’all. And Andy, he’s handled it like a champ. And by that, I mean he’s mostly taken all my phone calls at work, and talked me through mature and complicated things like obtaining contractor quotes and not punching insurance adjusters.
And for that, there are so many things I want to tell him, it’s just that every time I try, I get all weepy and choked up like I’m watching the wedding scene in The Muppets Take Manhattan.
So I’ve decided to wait until he’s asleep.
You are a really great dad. I know I got you a card saying this exact thing last Father’s Day, but it bears repeating, because before Jude came out, I did not have high hopes for us as parents. But, we rocked it out, and I’ll never admit this to your face, but you are so totally a better parent than me. You are more patient, and more logical, and you grow way better beards. I know it kills you every morning you have to walk out that door and I get to stay, but please know that I work all hours of the day just so that one day, you don’t have to leave anymore.
I broke our microwave. Only the middle line of number buttons work now, so you can only microwave food for times consisting of 2, 5, 8, and 0. Or use any of the specialty buttons. For example, if you want to reheat your Indian take-out, hit the Popcorn button once. If you want to heat up soup, hit the Popcorn button once, and then when it feels like it’s been in there roughly half the time, open the door and take it out. If you leave it in for a full Popcorn, you’ll burn your tongue and food will be ruined for you for at least a week. If you want to heat up a Hot Pocket, don’t, because you’ll have diarrhea all night and I’ll never heard the end of it. However, I recently read an article about how microwaves are killing us, so maybe I’ve done us all a favor. Honestly, you’re lucky to have me.
Sometimes I hate you for making me feel so beautiful. I can only stand here today and love me because you propped me up for 15 years until I was strong enough to do it myself, and it secretly hate that I’ll never be able to do anything as epic for you. I’ve been robbed of any hopes to win the award for best spouse, and all I can do in return is give you beautiful children and trim your eyebrows, and it never feels enough. Here’s this coupon I made you for free blow jobs.
Also, thank you for being patient with me as I’ve learned how to be an adult. It’s taken me longer than you, and you never make me feel bad about that.
Lastly, I wrote you this poem: You do something to me that I can’t explain. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. Every beat of my heart we got something going on. Tender love is blind, it requires a dedication. All this love we feel, needs no conversation. We can ride it together, ah-ha. Making love with each other, ah-ha. Islands in the stream, that is what we are. No one in between, how can we be wrong. Sail away with me, to another world. And we rely on each other, ah-ha. From one lover to another, ah-ha… okay I didn’t actually write that. It’s Islands In The Stream by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton, but it felt applicable here.