Having been up since 4:45 yesterday morning, once I plopped on the couch at 8:15 that night, I felt no shame in yelling for Brian to help me find the remote. Bennett was fed and asleep in his crib. A casserole was in the oven, but had another 45 minutes to go. (Brian asked his usual, “What are you making?” I replied with my usual, “I don’t know. I’m making it up as I go along.”) Feeling a rumbly in my tumbly, I carried with me to the living room a bowl of Multigrain Cheerios to hold me until dinner was ready. My toes were tingling from standing at work all day and I wasn’t quite sure how to begin composing the next blog post.
Me, “Brian! I know you’re busy! But I just can’t get up one more time!”
Brian, “Just tell me what you need!”
Me, “I don’t know where the remote is!”
As it turned out, the remote was behind my head, on the back of the couch, the entire time.
Brian looked at me, “You know, being 30, married with kids is harder than I thought.”
I was too pooped to agree, disagree or probe for more information, so I just gave him a look.
Brian, “It’s nice, too, though. I like having a baby so much. And I like seeing you be a mom. It’s really sweet.”
It’s true. He’s just a pudding puddle of mushy love. The other day, I overheard him having this talk with Bennett:
“You’re better than pumpkin pie! You’re better than vanilla birthday cake! You’re better than rice krispie treats! Yes, you are! You are the sweetest little man in the world! I love you!”
I love a man who isn’t to tough to be lovey-dovey.