Last week, I had a really rough day. I don't know exactly what was wrong and I still couldn't tell you why I wanted to sob my eyes out every other minute. It was most likely a combination of pregnancy hormones, pregnancy hormones, and more pregnancy hormones. Also, I live very far from the Krispy Kreme. (I'm just mentioning this because it might be a contributing factor.) It's also holiday season, a hard one for this expat, even though it's been years and years since I've lived at home. So, put all these things together, subtract donuts, and you get me calling my husband on a Wednesday and telling him I cancelled my tutoring sessions and asking him wildly through my tears if he was upset with me for practically throwing money away by not meeting my students. He, of course not a hormonal, homesick, pregnant, and donut-less lady, told me there was no reason for him to be upset. If I needed a break, I needed a break. (Let's pretend like I actually do anything that I could possibly need a break from, okay?) He tried his best to calm me down and told me he hoped I felt better soon. I hung up the phone and immediately felt guilty for calling him and bothering him with my silly crying fit.
About an hour later, he called me. "Hey, come downstairs. I'm taking you to lunch." I went down and met him and he drove us to one of my favorite burger joints. He told me he just felt like he needed to be with me and take care of me for a while, so he took a few hours off work to come spend with me. We sat in the restaurant and talked for over an hour. We speculated about the future, discussed our dreams and how to make them come true. It was so refreshing.
We've been married for almost three years (come February) and we've been together for five. And I've never tired of sitting across from this man, listening to his ideas, telling him my secret fears and hopes. It's still my favorite part of our relationship- the way we communicate, the way I feel known and understood by this other person.
Last night, my legs were tingling again. I knew that another rough night lay ahead and I was already miserable just thinking about how I wouldn't sleep. (I once read that insomnia is basically exacerbated by the insomniac dreading the insomnia. It's our fear of not sleeping that contributes to our not sleeping.) Kenny and I were ready for bed and he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bathroom. He sat me down and filled a basin with almost-too-hot water and proceeded to soak, wash, and massage my feet and legs for a good 20 minutes. It was blissful. And this was after he had worked a full day, had come home and helped me clean up around the house, and done some editing for a friend. My husband is amazing. I'm constantly in awe of his servant's heart and the way he cares for me.
If Kenny never said he loved me again for as long as we're living, I still wouldn't doubt it for a minute. This is what real love is. I hope you find it. It's beautiful here.
