Recently, J returned home from working 10 hours on his feet with a heavy battery pack strapped to his belt. It was late. He sat next to me on the couch and started massaging my back and feet. "The later it got, the heavier this battery pack felt and the more my back started to ache and my feet started to hurt," he explained. "I couldn't wait to get home and give you a massage. All I kept thinking was that this is how you feel every day when you're pregnant!"
A few nights ago, I woke up and told J about a dream I'd had. "I gave birth, and was so happy not to be pregnant anymore! It was so disappointing to wake up," I grumbled.
"Did you smell the baby?" he asked. J loves the smell of a newborn. He went on to wax poetic about swaddling the baby and holding it in that little nook under your chin, right where it's downy head brushes your skin and you can lay back and smell that newborn smell.
"Think about smelling the baby," he advised. "It'll make the next three months worth it."
I made a face, but have to admit that for the rest of the day, all I could think of was feather-soft hair and sweet baby smell.
Then, today after a large family gathering for Mother's Day, J left early on a business trip. He'd only been gone 30 minutes when people began asking about baby names. "Have you picked any out? Can you tell us what they are?" I refused, saying I didn't want to share without J being there. So his older brother texted him on the road, asking for permission. J texted back, "I love my wife and it's Mother's Day. She can do whatever she wants."
It is Mother's Day. I should be writing about the joys I've found in mothering, the lessons I learned from my own mother, and the sacredness of this parental calling, all of which I do feel and have words for. But if I'm honest, the best part of being a mother is that I don't have to do it alone.
I'm so glad I'm J's wife.
I'm so grateful he's the father of my children.
Even though he'll only be gone for one night, I miss him like crazy.
Love you, babe.