As with most parents I suppose, there has been an endless list of "fine print" that I neglected to read before giving birth to my first child. One of the very telling lessons, that at the time unbeknownst to me, would be the beginning of a decades-long trend, happened shortly after bringing child number one home from the hospital.
My husband and I had recently moved back to the northwest, and were living a couple of hours away from all of our extended family. I had invited my dad and stepmom to come and spend Father's Day with us, and join us for dinner. However, with the surprise early arrival of bundle of joy numero uno, I wasn't exactly up to the task of hosting and food preparation. At that point, I was a bit of a mess; I looked like a freak, having burst a multitude of blood vessels in my head and chest in my attempts to bring forth that little miracle into the world, and as a result covered in little purple spots from mid-torso up. Add to that the delightful pain of healing taking place between my legs, the result of episiotomy stitches and hemorrhoids from pushing so damn hard to get the kid out. And then of course there was the phenomenon known as engorgement; my breasts, overflowing with milk, had swelled to five times their original size (which notedly isn't that impressive, but to me, it was truly amazing), and they were hard as rocks and hot as lava, and not just a little tender to the touch.
Wanting to spend time with their firstborn grandchild, my dad and stepmom came to see us anyways, and graciously brought all the food with them. I was so happy! They brought steak and baked potatoes, and they prepared everything. I was salivating with anticipation; I was going to get a delectable steak dinner, without having to lift a finger. The aroma of that blessed piece of meat still lingers in the annals of my mind today.
When dinner was finally served, the four of us adults sat down at the table to begin partaking of the feast. It was at that exact moment when my newborn decided to awaken, feeling the pangs of hunger herself. I felt what can only be described as panic. What was happening? She can't cry right now; it's dinnertime and I'm hungry. The food is hot and ready to eat, and so am I, damnit! This moment in time has remained vivid in my mind: it was the dawn of realization of the level of sacrifice having children was going to impose upon me. I can honestly say, I had no idea before then that anything would ever come between me and my dinner, and I was shocked and appalled. How come no one told me that I'd be giving up eating on my own terms when I had a baby? We're all hungry; we all need sustenance. In fact, nursing mothers are supposed to have additional calories while breastfeeding; I was certain I had read that somewhere. I remember looking at my husband, feeling disturbed and conveying silently and telepathically to him, "Make it stop crying right now! I need to eat!" Alas, I was having one of those experiences where you gain insight through trauma. I was the only lactating individual at the table, and hence the only one who could really take care of the mewling infant's needs.
I grudgingly got up from the table and sat on the couch in the family room, with my back to the happy steak eaters behind me, and began the exquisitely painful task of nursing. Anyone who has ever experienced engorgement and cracked and bleeding nipples does not need an explanation for what this feels like; for those who have not had the opportunity to feel this sensation, I'll just let you use your imagination. I sat on that couch, with my baby pressed to my bosom, tears sliding down my cheeks from the pain of it all, and listened to my husband and parents talk and enjoy the consumption of their HOT meal behind me, with such anger at the unfairness of it all. It was what can be described as an educational experience for me; the start of sacrificing grudgingly the things which I had taken for granted only days before; the beginning of my realization that my needs weren't quite as important as someone else's needs any more. It totally sucked! Apparently, I got over it, though; four kids and thirteen years later, and I still don't get to enjoy a hot meal any time I want it. Just one of the many little treasures I've learned; the fine print of parenthood that I neglected to read in advance.
Future parents, beware.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Ode to a husband
A couple of months ago, my husband and I celebrated 15 years of marriage. In honor of this momentous occasion, we went to Sonic drive-in, and he ordered a milkshake while I ordered a strawberry limeade. That was our dinner. And we talked for about an hour or so in the car, and then went home. You see, at that particular moment, my beloved man was feeling especially stressed about spending money. Going out to an expensive dinner was not going to help the situation, in spite of the fact that it was our anniversary. Now, that being said, I must add here that we already celebrated our anniversary when we vacationed for ten days in the Caribbean in April, spending far more money than a nice dinner would have cost on our 'official' anniversary. But it really didn't matter, to either of us. We've become a little more in tune over the years with one another about what really matters, and it's acutally quite nice.
Here's my take on marriage. Marriage is hard. It takes a lot of commitment and work to be contented with it. It's not quite the fairytale you thought you signed up for. It can be stressful and ugly and smelly and uncomfortable sometimes. Most of the time, it is not romantic, exciting, thrilling and fulfilling beyond imagination. I'd like to think it's not just my marriage; if so, I think I'd prefer to remain ignorant of that fact.
To be fair, however, marriage (or my marriage, at least) has many distinct privileges/advantages/blessings - whatever you want to name them - that couldn't be enjoyed in any other way. There is something very satisfying about being able to trust another person with your most secret things (such as what your breath smells like in morning or the fact that you still occasionally wet the bed) and know that they love you no matter what. What a joy it is to never have to worry about helping my daughter with her algebra (since I am incapble of doing so) because her dad can. It is a comfort to know that I never have to change the oil in my car if I don't want to. And, for some bizarre and unexplainable reason, it amazes me that, no matter how I look, feel, smell, etc., my dear husband still desires me and finds me attractive (that's the big baffling one to me). It is a feeling of bone deep knowledge, marriage for me, that someone loves me enough to go to work every day and earn money to pay for a roof over my head, feed and cloth myself and our offspring, unplug the toilet when needed, and never comment on the condition of the homefront when I've been reading a novel all day, completely ignoring children and household to partake of a delightful little escape.
And so, it is with many words that I present to you a list of reasons why I love my dearest man. Hence the title, Ode to a husband.
1. He never smells bad. Even when he's sweaty and unshowered. Never - not his feet or his armpits or anything. It seems a bit unfair that I stink enough for the both of us, but there it is. My husband always smells delicious.
2. He's quite tall. I can't explain the feeling of being so miniature all my life, and to have married someone who towers 13 inches over me. When he hugs me, it's like he's the bread and I'm the pb&j squished inside, and I love it. I like feeling small next to him. Weird, huh?
3. He's hairy. Okay, I know this really bothers some people. But I've got to be honest: when I see a man's chest without hair on it, I think to myself that he's either: A. pre-pubescent; B. shaves or waxes away his chest hair for assorted reasons, none of which make any sense to me or appeal to me on any level; or C. he's potentially not really a man. Let's face it: people have hair. And, while chest, armpit, and facial hair aren't extraordinarily attractive on the female body (at least in my opinion), they seem quite in place on the male body. I like my husband's hairy chest. I like resting my cheek against it. It's soft and fuzzy and male and I like it.
4. He's kinda nerdy. He's a computer science graduate, for crying out loud! He speaks strange, unknown technical languages and can fix computer glitches in a single bound. He has strange hobbies, such as golfing and watching CSI. He's the most meticulous financial record keeper in the known history of mankind. He abhors paperwork and wants all things in life to be digital and wireless, or something like that. He remembers every football stat having to do with John Elway. His favorite store to go shopping with me on a Friday night is Fry's Electronics. He can tell you the date, time, location, inning, and weather conditions of every home run he ever hit. He's a quirky little sucker, and it's endearing. Something about the way he looks when he's playing with his Blackberry or IMing four people at the same time, it just gets me every time (sniff).
5. He loves his kids. Why this is so wonderful to me, I am not sure. But, I take great delight in watching this very large man wrestle, tickle, tease, hug, kiss, cuddle, and in all other ways lovingly care for his children. It always puts a smile on my face and makes my chest feel all warm inside when I witness him giving his attention and affection to one of our brood.
6. He's still pretty damn nice on the eyes. Sometimes, I'll look at him, with his nice suit and tie on at church, and feel the compulsion to text him with some naughty remark and waggle my eyebrows at him. He's always had a beautiful smile, a sweet backside, and legs that would look quite fetching in a kilt, I think. He's still got it.
7. He cares about people. I mean really, deep down feels compassion and empathy for people. He loves and honors his parents, and always has. He respects and enjoys the people he works with, and is uplifted from the associations he's made. He has an honest concern for the welfare of those within his sphere of influence. He believes the best in people. He likes being around others. It's a wonderful complement to his cynical, moderately loner-ish partner-in-life. I have seen firsthand, countless times, how affected he can become by others sufferings, and I think it's a great and wonderful gift he has.
8. He's smartalented. This one, I'll admit, tends to get my dander up from time to time, but it is true nonetheless. He knows things. He's able to do things. And, if there is something he doesn't know or cannot do, he generally will do what he needs to remedy that situation. He likes to be good at what he does, and he does what it takes to make it so. Sometimes I wish I cared that much, but usually it seems too exhausting an undertaking, and I'd rather not put forth the effort. But, I do admire that about him. Usually. Unless, of course, it's learning to beat me at pool or darts or something like that; then it kinda pisses me off. Otherwise, it's pretty cool.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, raise your glass with me, and toast a guy who rocks my socks off. Ooolahlah!
Here's my take on marriage. Marriage is hard. It takes a lot of commitment and work to be contented with it. It's not quite the fairytale you thought you signed up for. It can be stressful and ugly and smelly and uncomfortable sometimes. Most of the time, it is not romantic, exciting, thrilling and fulfilling beyond imagination. I'd like to think it's not just my marriage; if so, I think I'd prefer to remain ignorant of that fact.
To be fair, however, marriage (or my marriage, at least) has many distinct privileges/advantages/blessings - whatever you want to name them - that couldn't be enjoyed in any other way. There is something very satisfying about being able to trust another person with your most secret things (such as what your breath smells like in morning or the fact that you still occasionally wet the bed) and know that they love you no matter what. What a joy it is to never have to worry about helping my daughter with her algebra (since I am incapble of doing so) because her dad can. It is a comfort to know that I never have to change the oil in my car if I don't want to. And, for some bizarre and unexplainable reason, it amazes me that, no matter how I look, feel, smell, etc., my dear husband still desires me and finds me attractive (that's the big baffling one to me). It is a feeling of bone deep knowledge, marriage for me, that someone loves me enough to go to work every day and earn money to pay for a roof over my head, feed and cloth myself and our offspring, unplug the toilet when needed, and never comment on the condition of the homefront when I've been reading a novel all day, completely ignoring children and household to partake of a delightful little escape.
And so, it is with many words that I present to you a list of reasons why I love my dearest man. Hence the title, Ode to a husband.
1. He never smells bad. Even when he's sweaty and unshowered. Never - not his feet or his armpits or anything. It seems a bit unfair that I stink enough for the both of us, but there it is. My husband always smells delicious.
2. He's quite tall. I can't explain the feeling of being so miniature all my life, and to have married someone who towers 13 inches over me. When he hugs me, it's like he's the bread and I'm the pb&j squished inside, and I love it. I like feeling small next to him. Weird, huh?
3. He's hairy. Okay, I know this really bothers some people. But I've got to be honest: when I see a man's chest without hair on it, I think to myself that he's either: A. pre-pubescent; B. shaves or waxes away his chest hair for assorted reasons, none of which make any sense to me or appeal to me on any level; or C. he's potentially not really a man. Let's face it: people have hair. And, while chest, armpit, and facial hair aren't extraordinarily attractive on the female body (at least in my opinion), they seem quite in place on the male body. I like my husband's hairy chest. I like resting my cheek against it. It's soft and fuzzy and male and I like it.
4. He's kinda nerdy. He's a computer science graduate, for crying out loud! He speaks strange, unknown technical languages and can fix computer glitches in a single bound. He has strange hobbies, such as golfing and watching CSI. He's the most meticulous financial record keeper in the known history of mankind. He abhors paperwork and wants all things in life to be digital and wireless, or something like that. He remembers every football stat having to do with John Elway. His favorite store to go shopping with me on a Friday night is Fry's Electronics. He can tell you the date, time, location, inning, and weather conditions of every home run he ever hit. He's a quirky little sucker, and it's endearing. Something about the way he looks when he's playing with his Blackberry or IMing four people at the same time, it just gets me every time (sniff).
5. He loves his kids. Why this is so wonderful to me, I am not sure. But, I take great delight in watching this very large man wrestle, tickle, tease, hug, kiss, cuddle, and in all other ways lovingly care for his children. It always puts a smile on my face and makes my chest feel all warm inside when I witness him giving his attention and affection to one of our brood.
6. He's still pretty damn nice on the eyes. Sometimes, I'll look at him, with his nice suit and tie on at church, and feel the compulsion to text him with some naughty remark and waggle my eyebrows at him. He's always had a beautiful smile, a sweet backside, and legs that would look quite fetching in a kilt, I think. He's still got it.
7. He cares about people. I mean really, deep down feels compassion and empathy for people. He loves and honors his parents, and always has. He respects and enjoys the people he works with, and is uplifted from the associations he's made. He has an honest concern for the welfare of those within his sphere of influence. He believes the best in people. He likes being around others. It's a wonderful complement to his cynical, moderately loner-ish partner-in-life. I have seen firsthand, countless times, how affected he can become by others sufferings, and I think it's a great and wonderful gift he has.
8. He's smartalented. This one, I'll admit, tends to get my dander up from time to time, but it is true nonetheless. He knows things. He's able to do things. And, if there is something he doesn't know or cannot do, he generally will do what he needs to remedy that situation. He likes to be good at what he does, and he does what it takes to make it so. Sometimes I wish I cared that much, but usually it seems too exhausting an undertaking, and I'd rather not put forth the effort. But, I do admire that about him. Usually. Unless, of course, it's learning to beat me at pool or darts or something like that; then it kinda pisses me off. Otherwise, it's pretty cool.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, raise your glass with me, and toast a guy who rocks my socks off. Ooolahlah!
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