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.
What was the point of all of this?
I love my husband, is all.