Late last night, I was about twelve hours post vomit (Tiny Dancer has been sick) but still without a shower when Papa Bear sent me a text from his night job. “I love you” was all it said. It made me giddy because he didn’t leave off the “I”. He usually leaves off the “I” when texting. It makes me feel like a buddy, or worse still, a high-school girlfriend, when he writes “love you” sans “I,” but I’ve never said anything about it until now. I’m such a wonderful wife. I’ve taken to public nagging. And that being said, remind me to tell you (or not) what he bought online today while I was taking the nap he encouraged.
I was exhausted and seriously considering crawling into bed as was, but that one little act made me change the course of my evening. I showered and [gasp] shaved; I put on my best perfume and a pot of coffee. I fed Baby Bear one last time and put him in his bed. Then I sat down to read and write. I only had to make it until two-thirty a.m.
I have mentioned that I hate our new winter schedule, right?
When Papa Bear walked through the door, I was on my third episode of Lost. He came upstairs and sat beside me, and I said something incredibly sexy like, “I took a shower. How tired are you?” He didn’t answer, he just laughed a little laugh that said it all. He headed downstairs to spruce, and I loaded the last few dishes into the washer.
I could literally hear his attempt at stealth as he sneaked through our room (that is also the nursery). And it was all very funny until Baby Bear began to cry. Because it was a dramatised wail of the deeply offended, I walked into the room, scooped the
menacing child and sat down on the end of the bed to nurse him.
Papa Bear stepped toward me; I could see his face clearly back-lit by the bathroom light. I shook my head and he smiled. He climbed into bed behind me, and as I sat crossed-legged, hunched over our nine month old who was sucking down milk for comfort, he began to lovingly rub my back. A tear sprung from my tired eyes and tumbled down my cheek.
“Are you upset?” he asked.
“Yes. I should have been in bed hours ago,” I cried, “And I totally wasted a shower.”
He laughed, and I giggled, and Baby Bear began to wail. Just then I heard a painful cry erupt from upstairs. I handed Papa Bear the baby so that I could go and investigate, and it took me all of thirty seconds to return with Cuddle Bug in arms.
“Another stomach ache,” I bemoaned.
“Oh no,” he sighed.
The four of us settled into our ever shrinking queen-sized bed.
“We close at midnight tomorrow night,” Papa Bear said hopefully
“Yeah, midnight is better,” I laughed.
Baby Bear wriggled and cried. I burped him and checked his diaper and then returned him to his bed, “Don’t worry,” I scolded. “Nothing you don’t want to happen is going to happen tonight!” Then he cooed and sighed and rapidly fell asleep.
I crawled back into bed next to Papa Bear with Cuddle Bug positioned on the outside. Papa Bear wrapped his arm around my waist and I nudged my baby girl saying, “Are you sure you can’t sleep in your bed, Sweetie?”
Papa Bear laughed.
Cuddle Bug moaned and complained of impending vomit.
Then she did.
When I finally fell asleep, long after everyone else and about two hours later, it was to a symphony of gas and moans. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought back on how exciting my life was supposed to have been. But really, I laughed, “Does it get any more exciting than this?”
A few years down the road, when the romance comes more easily, will it be easier to take it for granted? I hope not. After everything we’ve survived, it will take us years and years to celebrate.
I can’t wait to grow old with you, Baby.
Oh, and I can’t wait til midnight.