Tonight, as we sat at the kitchen table, there was a soft glow from the dying sun coming through the window, brushing easily against your skin. Your hair was up, adorably. Your face was bright and gorgeous. Your neck, graceful. Your breasts were full and perfect, rounded into more than a hint of cleavage. Your eyes are so incredibly deep.
You, my wife, sat at the other edge of the table from me. And here's a fact: You were the absolute most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I have absolutely no memory of having ever seen anything so beautiful in all of my life. You are absolutely gorgeous.
I want you, selfishly. Yes, in my guts, I'm screaming for you. But what I really want right now is just to be with you alone in a quiet room, with a healthy amount of clock between us and responsibility, reality. I'd like to stretch our bodies side-by-side, husband and wife, against each other. And quietly, slowly, with all the time in the world, I'd just like to feel you against me, warm and soft. I'd like to hear your beautiful voice, all of your perfect thoughts. I want to trace my lips along your neck and feel your voice escape you as you tell me all of the secrets that you've unraveled in this world.
I'm ridiculously in love with you.
It's very late, now. And I don't feel tired at all. But I'm going to go lay beside you. I'll find you asleep, and I'll try not to disturb you, but I do have a plan to lay as close to you as possible, to feel as much of your warmth as possible. Silently, I'll beg for you.
I love you.
There are so many reasons why I don't deserve this. That's what I tell myself every day. That I'm so not beautiful or interesting... at least not any more. I'm just a big, fat, insert generic personal flaw here, mom. I haven't felt pretty or sexy in... I don't even know how long. I can't even remember a time where I wasn't pregnant or walking around with baby barf on my shoulder.
And also, I'm rude and snippy and demanding. As soon as Kurt walks in the door after work, I hand him the baby and start ordering everybody to start eating so that I can get to the library or the gym. I don't even cook him meat. At night, he washes the dishes and the bottles, and I totally let him. Every time. I just go to bed.
I don't work so that I can be home with the girls, and Kurt sits through immeasurable hours of me crying and philosophizing and working my way through being a mom. He goes to a job, and comes home without saying a word about it, unless I ask. I have spilled my entire theories of life and death and about how our girls will completely kill me one day, either because I'll explode from loving them, or from the stress they're causing me without any prompting from him. Because I'm selfish. Add that to the list of reasons why I don't deserve him.
I wake up in the morning after he's dressed for work, changed Louisey, brushed Scouty's teeth and gotten her breakfast. I stumble down the stairs to find them happily playing in a pile of toys, cursing under my breath about being tired and sore and old... and I only want to sleep for a thousand hours in a row, or at least have a cup of tea before it's time for Littlest Pet Shops and peekaboo. But then I find this note, and I feel like I'm somebody's girl.
The whole time Todd the Dog and Peacocky the Parrot are riding the Little Pet swing, I feel like somebody's dream girl, and this is how I'm sane and happy for another day.
Lots of people settle for never being somebody's dream girl. I married late, after I'd already been impregnated, and oh how the grandmothers swooned at that. The thing about me is that I'm so far from being a good partner that it's sick. I'm moody, disorganized and impulsive. I argue and I'm stubborn. I think too much, and I notice too much about everybody around me. I have daddy issues and I'm one of those people who honestly believes that her kids are smarter and cuter than everybody elses. The only reason my children aren't highly sought after baby models is because we're not that kind of a family.
But, somehow, Kurt and I work perfectly together. For all of the times I decide that we're going to hike the Appalachian Trail and camp as a family, he is there to remind me that a hotel on Lake Erie might be more reasonable. When he gets lost in details and worries about how things are going to be in the future, I remind him that things need taking care of, now. My wildness is tempered by his calm. My self-centered nature is anchored by his humility.
We're both writers, too. We both love books and theory and rock and roll. We both believe women and children are people, too. We both like walking in the evenings, and spending money on things that make us happy. We both have a weird fondness for Pittsburgh. We're both obsessed with our children.
And we both like reality television.
A lot.
What was the point of all of this?
I love my husband, is all.
Um, I think you might need to make-out with your husband. At a minimum.
ReplyDeleteWow. The note that your husband left you literally made me tear up. What an incredible expression of his feelings for you. You're a lucky girl, but, no. I'd imagine that you aren't really lucky at all, but are actually an awesome and amazing person who deserves this awesome man as a husband. This is a wonderful post. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeletedid you share this yesterday or did i imagine it?
ReplyDeletethere's a video of hiking that trail...i think i found it when my friend posted to another link on their blog.
http://www.backpacker.com/febtest_green_tunnel_at_5_minutes/blogs/daily_dirt/1990
What a beautiful, letter! My husband and I have the same kind of dynamic (he being a saint, me being a shrew,) and every once in a while, he will make me take pause and reconnect - just not as eloquently! You're a lucky, lucky girl!
ReplyDeleteTruly lovely. I have to say, you have a pretty wonderful man who's in love with you. You are very lucky woman! Thanks so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThis beautiful. All of it - the note he left you, your thoughts on being a wife and mother... It sounds to me like you are both pretty amazing people who love and deserve each other.
ReplyDeleteI feel the same way about my fiance, by the way. He works on the road half the year with his band, and when he's home I feel like I put everything on him so I can focus on my work. He cooks, cleans, takes care of our old/sick dog, buys the groceries - and usually, I complain. But somehow he still loves me.
Thanks for the sweet comments on my blog. So happy to have visited yours!
xo,
melissa
Oh wow. Have you met me!?!
ReplyDeleteMy guy does not write me lovely letters, he's not that type, but he puts the kids to bed, night after night, and does the dishes if I am not done them yet or too tired to start.
We are imperfectly perfect, but I too am a harridan of a sort. I sometimes call him at work to accuse him wildly of locking my bike and hiding the key, or messing up my life in another equally petty way. Not as frequently as when the three were babies, but still.
You know? I have this theory that we are all entitled to some kindness, some inexplicable love in our lives. I too did not get much of that in my early years, and so I willingly accept it from my guy now, even though I am often surprised by the constancy of it.
I loved your Mother's day post too, by the way, and amused myself by burying it in your past. I think it is inspired, and the best one I've read yet.
karen
ps. Oooh, that man can write!!! I would be jealous, except mine fits me perfectly so I'll read your guy's letter as representative of those who are less able to express themselves ... not the exact words, of course, but the sentiment.