You Make Me Smile

We really take our loved ones for granted, don't we?

I don't know...Maybe it is J's newly-diagnosed illness. Maybe it's the pregnancy having me all hormonal and emotional.

Last night, J's doctor advises him to eat a great supper because today, when he wakes up, the sugar-free, fat-free whirlwind begins. So we go to an upscale burger joint, J, E, and I. And as we are all sitting around the corner booth in front of burgers the size of E's noggin, I look at the smiling faces of my husband and son. The picture of beauty. The men in my life. And this song was playing in the restaurant. I remember seeing part of the video on CMT as I was flipping through the channels from my permanent home on the sofa, and I remember thinking, "Wow, what a cute song". But suddenly, it's more than cute.

J has never been sick. I have. I have had some doozies. It was this time 3 years ago when I was having blinding headaches that would cause me to pass out and the doctors told me I have a benign brain tumor. It ended up being okay. There is a tumor, but it is small and nothing that cannot reamin there. But I remember that time. We had the best summer we have ever had. Because for weeks, we had thought I was going to need a surgery that, because of the tumor's location on my brain, would result in me having to learn everything all over again, including my own son's name. I was off of work then, too. So we spent the entire summer by the pool, with me memorizing every detail of J's and E's laughter, of mapping out every freckle on J's bronzed shoulders, of focusing on the exact location of every teensy sparkle in E's eyes when the sunlight hits them at certain angles. My boys.

I've gone on and on about E. But what about J? I have spent a decade of my life with this man. It's been hard at times. We've had times where we liteally lost everything we had and had to build anew. Not one time. Times. Plural. But we've had our share of good, too. After having dropped out of college when my mom died, it was J who convinced me that I was too smart to not go back and finish. And it was J who was there as I walked off the stage, having finished my degree with academic honors, top of my class. Right there. As in he didn't stay in his seat, but was literally at the foot of the steps, with open arms, to hug me. It was just the two of us when E came into the world. His mom visited afterwards, and of course medical pesonnel were present, but otherwise, just us. And when I made my return home to greater Cincinnati, after having been gone for 6 years, he is the one who drove the U-Haul out of the way just to pass over the bridge into downtown so I could see the skyline of my hometown at night. We had left here in defeat when E's pregnancy drove us to financial ruin, and we were returning again in triumph,better than ever before, and he knew I needed that.

Looking back, it's always been him, even before I met him. How can that be? Well, quite simply, we all want to find the person out there who understands us. Who can get to the very soul of what makes us tick. For me, J is that person. Does he drive me crazy? Absolutely. This man can get under my skin and aggravate me like no other. He can drive me to insanity and back.

I have never even tried to picture a world without J. I don't want to, ever.

He makes me smile.

29 Wks, 4 Days: Random Musings From the One Behind the Belly

I've been pondering some things lately. Silly things. Completely random things. Hmmmmm...

Why is it that...

If you ask a pregnant woman how far along she is, you will, in that answer, be able to determine how problematic her pregnancy has been? Think I'm crazy? Try it! For a nice, easy pregnancy, she will reply in months: "I'm 6 months." or "I'm 9 months."
If it is slightly problematic, she'll reply in weeks.
If it has been sheer hell, she knows! Down to the day. And she counts down her weeks. And knows exactly when she has turned to the next week. And how far along her baby is measuring.
Don't believe me? Try it and see!

Men cannot paint toenails? I haven't even asked J to do this for this pregnancy. I've learned. When I was pregnant with E, he tried. It ended up as "fun with polish". I was bored and on bedrest, so he let me paint his nails the most obnoxious pink color. Then hid the nail polish remover from him for half a day. It was fun. My Marine husband and his hot pink nails. But then a few years later, I had my knee reconstructed and couldn't bend my left leg. J had learned his lesson, but still tried to paint my toes on the left foot. Oh. My. God. Yes, his heart was in the right place. But I could have gotten the same effect by pouring the bottle of polish over my toes. Which is problematic. I have ugly feet. And it is officially flip-flop weather, and I will not wear anything toe-revealing without my toenails painted. Picture Barney Rubble's feet. That's me.

My husband cannot clean a house? He was a Marine, for crying out loud. He had literally years where he would be told to "clean the head!". But yesterday, I got up from my encampment in the bedroom and found out just how bad my house looked and freaked out. And gagged when I saw the bathroom. Which started an argument. As in he got smart, saying I expect him to spring clean everyday. I don't consider this stuff spring cleaning. I consider it basic hygiene. Maybe he thought he could get away with it. I am, after all, in no position to argue.

That no matter how jerky my husband can be, and make me think he just doesn't get it, he does something unbelievably sweet for me to turn it all around? Last week, I needed a bath. When I take a shwer, my pump goes in this little waterproof pouch that hangs on the shower head. So I am literally tethered to a wall and cannot contort myself into the position necessary to shave my legs. Once in a while, the need to change my infusion site will coincide with the need to shave, but not all of the time. And the only way I can sit submerged in water is when I am free from the pesky little catheter. So last week, J helps me get into a tub with my legs hanging over the side, and he shaved my legs for me. Of course this could have been completely self-serving on his part. As in he didn't want a wife who looked like Sasquatch. Or Chewbacca. But either way, no matter what he had done that day, I was reminded how much I love my husband.

I have a new addiction to YouTube? I did this years ago when J was planning on reenlisting. I would search and find videos of husbands leaving for war and watch and cry and fret when he didn't know I was even awake. Now I do the same thing, only I search for preemie videos. And I find and watch some of the most horrific stuff and cry. Sometimes it can have the opposite effect: it's uplifting and encouraging. But regardless, I cry. Why? I compare it to passing a gruesome car accident. You know you shouldn't want to look, and you know you will not like what you see, but something pulls your eyes in that direction anyway. It's not even like I need to educate myself. I know from my professional experience what I am dealing with in having a potential preemie. But I do it anyway. Maybe it is my subconscious way of reminding myself of why I want to endure this hell at a time when I just want it to be over already. My motivation to keep squeezing "just one more week" out of the pregnancy.

25 Wks, 3 days: J's Take on This?

Hmmmm. This may sound silly, but I find myself wondering what it is like to be the man in a complicated pregnancy. Or any pregnancy, for that matter.

We women are so lucky. To carry a child and have it grow inside of you forms a bond that cannot and will not be broken. And men have their role, too. But it just seems so much more abstract looking at that role from the outside. This is, of course, coming from a woman who has a very involved husband. There has only been one appointment in all of this that J could not attend, and that was simply because E had a snow day at school, making it ncessary for him to go along with us. J kept him ouside and occupied while I saw the doctor that day. Other than that, he is there with me every step of the way.

I remember his excitement at finding out E was to be a boy. He had almost the same reaction when we found out Zachary's gender. Does it make them feel more manly to produce sons? Lke in some ancient culture where sons are a tribute to their virility?

I wonder how J feels about all of the problems I have, if he regrets that he married a woman who is flawed, and cannot seem to do the one thing that women are supposed to be able to do. I know this view is slightly skewed. I know women who have had fertility issues, and know it is not their fault, and that it makes them no lesser a woman. But when it is you that has trouble, this is how you see it: you are flawed, defective, unnatural. Or maybe that is just me. Who knows?

I could ask J how he feels. We have been married for the better portion of a decade. When I say he is my best friend, I am not just saying that as the cliche of marriage. He truly is. My partner, my lover, my soulmate, my confidante, my biggest fan, my worst enemy, my entire world. But J is also....well....J. A tough-talking Marine Corps Veteran. A good-ol' boy raised in the country. He doesn't talk about his feelings unless he has to. They come out eventually, but only when he is overflowing with emotion and it spills out of him more like an involuntary response. Kind of like a bucket collecting rainwater: it gets full to the point that there is no place for the water to go but to spill over the sides. That's J.

But still...I cannot help but to wonder what this all feels like for him.