Monday, March 01, 2010
Sometimes we talk about how much space there is between us compared to our newlywed days. How the girls have wedged their bodies and their hearts in between us, between our conversation and coherent thoughts, inside our rational ideas. There's no escaping them, and we've learned how to somewhat cling to the us, the two of us. But really, what would we be without our girls?
I remember the day you told me you wanted to marry me.
I remember the day we found out we were pregnant with Grace, the look on your face, me in my cut offs that day, both of us so young.
I remember the day she was born. How we both cried. How a bright heaviness was in the room, pulling us together, making our dreams come true, creating in just moments a bond we could never break. How you stayed up all night with her, holding and rocking. Her birth taught us how valuable we are to our own family, to our own God.
I remember moving with you. So many places. Getting the girls settled in their beds. Always that first night in our new place, staying up so late laughing, unpacking, arguing about little things, laughing later, living day after day in our new life.
I remember flying on airplanes with you. First to our honeymoon, alone, on our own little cloud, across the country. Then to Arizona, California, Florida, each place adding experience. Each child adding chaos and entertainment.
There are so many memories only you and I can recount. That's the special part.
Tonight I rocked Lillie in her room. It was a no-go. I gave her a pack of m&m's at Home Depot (I know, you told me not to!) and there was no way she was snoozing anytime soon. So I just rocked her for awhile. I heard your voice float down the hallway. So deep and familiar. So strong. How long in my life I wished for a big strong man in my house to have that voice, that deep one, that filled the air. Calming my nerves, making me feel loved.
I heard a higher version, an inflection saved for our daughters. One of them was out of her bed and on your lap at the computer. She talked with you and without hearing the words you said, I could tell you were caring about her, caressing her face, telling her she was loved and beautiful and worth so much.
This is precisely why I love you. If I could pinpoint it, it would be the love you have for me and our children. It wrenches my heart. It melts away your imperfections. It makes me love you madly, makes my heart beat strong, gives me chills.
I love you, of course, told you a million times. And if I had a bunch of money, I'd buy you a motorbike and a couple of timeshares.