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The Mr. and Me
Post-run, pre-homework backyard hangs. I'm grateful for these moments, because I'm hungry for them so frequently, but rarely able to indulge these days. Yesterday marked the halfway point in this 3-month season (yay!!) - this season where he works hard and devotes himself wholeheartedly to learning this new (and exciting) thing and I give him space and grace and encouragement to do so. We agreed to it, yes. But, like a wise person reminded us yesterday, that doesn't mean we have to like it. And I don't like it - I miss him when he's "gone." :)
It's a surreal statement.
I was growing a human. Me. I still don't quite grasp it. Despite the positive pregnancy tests. Despite the morning sickness. Despite the unusual cravings. Despite the ultrasound that proved it and ended it. Despite having the surgery that removed it. Still doesn't feel quite real.
But, I was pregnant. For two months, I was a mom ... body and mind. My boobs hurt and my free time was spent considering the merits of various strollers. And then, well, I just wasn't. Pregnant, that is. And the hormones tapered off. My boobs felt normal. And I cleared the cache on my computer so I'd stop seeing baby gear ads.
This is the reality of a miscarriage. Intense feeling and a hesitancy to let the feeling flow.
I am grateful for ...
His sacrifices — he's working three jobs to keep us financially floating and comfortable. All three jobs are thankless and often lonely. They wear him out - physically and emotionally. But he rarely complains. And he's still a present husband. He's more tuned into my needs and giving me what I need (and sometimes what I don't even know I need) than I could have ever hoped for or expected. His love is daily testament to selflessness.
His boyishness — he's got a youthful giddiness about him when he's excited about things. He throws himself unrestrained into projects and ideas. He's a baby/kid whisperer. Maybe it's because he's got a wonderful innocence and curiosity about him that's too rare. Either way, he's a regular delight and just being with him is teaching me how to play.
His willingness — he tries, he learns, he asks, he answers. He's up for whatever. Whether it's seat dancing to Taylor Swift, camping down the road, remodeling the kitchen, or sailing the inter-coastal, he is accessible. Invested. Game on. He doesn't deny his fear and his anxiety, but he steps over what threatens to hold him back from life on a regular basis. It's inspiring. And his openness forces mine.
His skin — it's warm and soft and smells perfectly comforting. Cuddled on the couch, snuggling in bed or simply holding hands as we walk into the store, touching him feels like safety and security. It's just the best.
He's the best. And I am blown away blessed that he picked me.
Because no one was going to NAB this year, we decided to skip Vegas and celebrate our third anniversary on a 7-day cruise to the Eastern Caribbean. We jumped onboard Royal Caribbean's Freedom of the Seas at Port Canaveral and set sail for three destinations: The Bahamas, St. Thomas and St. Maarten.
Overall trip assessment: Awesome. Food? Great. Service? Solid. Room? Worked! Ship? Impressive. Ports? Perfection. The company? My absolute Favorite.
The Mr. and I talking yesterday about a house for sale on one of the lakes we wouldn't mind living on for life:
me: "We should buy it."
him: "Yea, we should. I mean, we can't afford the down payment. Or the monthly mortgage payment. But that's it."
me: "We should do it anyway. We could make it work."
him: "Yea. And it'd be awesome."
me: "Yea doggy! Can we get a puppy first? Ooo, or a truck? We'd need the truck to get our boat into the lake ..."
We've been daydreaming lately in our good moments.
But, we've been angry and crying in our bad ones. Avoidant and numbed in our worst.
We've never felt this trapped before. This helpless. This hopeless.
The "next best thing" seems really, really far away ... and maybe not even ours for the making or the taking.
We're exhausted. Mad at ourselves for the lives we've made. We love each other. We love God. But, damn, the rest is pissing us off. Disappointing us. Confusing the heaven out of us.
Part of us knows this is a season — one of growing and stretching and transformation and acceptance — but the other part of us is threatened by the headaches and tears in our eyes and dark clouds surrounding.
But, it is what it is. All we have is now. Today, in all it's crap and occasional care, is pregnant with the promises and power of tomorrow.
Maybe we're just having a crappy first trimester?*
One can hope. Maybe. At least in our good moments ...
*I am NOT pregnant. It's a metaphor people.
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Maybe it was a result of my sleeping thoughts. I mean, I know I dreamt about getting pregnant despite the impossibility of it happening. I dreamt about having to end the pregnancy. I felt awful about all of it in the dream. Maybe I've brought forward into my waking life the emotional wreckage of my unconscious mind.
Regardless, it's one of those mornings where I just despise myself. I feel a failure and disdain for the "have tos" and the "maybe laters" of life. I don't want to do freelance. I don't want to exit my comfort zone to put myself out there for the slim possiblity of getting a client referral. I don't want to exercise and eat right. I DON'T WANT TO. Life, would you just leave me the f- alone? Can it feel easy again, just once? Life texts back with a resounding "NO!" and it stings. So, this morning, I've been short and disrespectful with my husband. I'm irrationally annoyed by everything going on around me. I'm mean. I'm sabatoging another's joy. And I don't know how to stop doing it. So, I'm shaming myself for being this darker version of myself.
But, my dearest love, in my idiocy I am still wise to your beauty. The giddiness you unashamedly express at new discovery and talent ... I envy it. It puts in sharp contrast my timidity and fear. I love how you speak your thoughts out loud as you click around on the web. You haven't yet let my darkness overwhelm your heart. God, may it never. You hum. It's unrestrained. Regular. Baffling to the parts of me that are hard. I certainly do not deserve you and the ways you forgive me over and over and over again. Thank you for playing "MmmBop" like it wasn't random and for not pushing "stop" just because I rolled my eyes. You are the best thing. God, help me to care better for the glory you've given.
"Is it crazy that I'm having separation anxiety when he leaves the house?"
That's the text I got last week from a very newly married friend. My response? "If you're crazy, then book me residence at the funny farm … 'cause I STILL get a little bit sad every time the Mr. leaves for work!"
And it's true. I miss him when we're apart. I still love sharing the couch with him as we wind down the day. I still feel like saying "I love you" doesn't even begin to cover the feelings. I can't explain the overwhelming urge I have to punch the people in the face who don't treat him like the incredible man that he is. I'm a little resentful of the events that require his time on our weekly designated day off together. Still. Sometimes in increasing measure.
I have a best friend that I know I can be real with … and, well, that's just the best thing EVER.
This guy is better than I could have imagined. He's more supportive than I can fathom. And he's so wonderfully talented and capable in all the ways I'm not. The point? This love thing? The partnership? The becoming one in Christ? It's bewildering and I'm blessed.
May my gratitude always glorify the One who got us together and by (and in) Whose grace we'll stay together and love one another and others well.
I slept in AGAIN today. While I did, the Mr. was up and prepping for his day — which, along with heading to do a shift at his THIRD job, included setting up a Valentine's Day floral surprise for me!
Dear Mr., you are unbelievably good at making me feel special and loved. I am blessed beyond measure to be the one that gets to do life with you. With love and prayers for many, many more years of being your "valentine" ... — Me
A year ago today, I got married. It's still surreal. Me? Married? How? And to him? How'd I get this lucky? So blessed? Unmerited favor, certainly. Grace. It seems apt that our first year anniversary would fall on Easter … our joy is somehow more poignant, our covenant … clearer … in light of our God's resurrection.
In Greg, I recognize a different dimension of God's love … one I couldn't have known previously. This guy gets me and loves me despite. He is the perfect man for me — providing in ways and through means I didn't even know I needed or existed. This glimpse of God in man, my man? It's so good. He's so good. And today, grateful for a year with the guy He gave me, all I want to do is praise Him … and pray … pray for His continued guidance, power and grace upon our marriage … pray to live generous lives of service and love … pray for wisdom to love better … pray for strength to beat back temptation … to recognize the evil one and flee … pray for patience and kindness … selflessness and humility … pray for the kind of love and union that points back to Him, again and again and again.
Happy Easter, my friends! Love.
The Mr. and I skipped town on Thursday evening. We've got a getaway to Miami/Grove Isle planned for two weeks out, but apparently we both needed a change of scenery sooner. So, he booked a hotel, we packed a bag, and off we went to Tampa.