21 August 2015
A Love Story
Brite peed through her diaper at 4 am this morning. Her jammies were soaked and my side of the bed had a nice sized pee spot. I tucked her bare tummy next to Andy's back while I went to fumble through the load of laundry I had left on the couch. I found the last remaining clean onesie and pulled it over her head while simultaneously shooshing. She slept on. I threw a hand towel over the pee spot and nuzzled in which seems a lot more gross in the morning light and one cup of coffee later.
Andy's alarm went off somewhere around 6:00. He got ready, kissed my sleepy face and was out the door before I got up. I walked out to a kitchen that smelled like coffee. He had brewed our last remaining keurig cup and left it for me.
I could narrate our evening before it happens.
Tonight, he'll walk in after an hour long drive. He'll smile as he walks through the door, even though he is exhausted. His three girls will cheer and give him hugs or we'll hide. We'll follow him into the closet; he'll change into a v-neck while we talk about a big meeting he had or how I was thinking about painting the tile in our kitchen.
I will finish making dinner, or he will finish making dinner. Marin will use choppy toddler English to tell him about her day with lots of stuttering "ummms." I'll clean up the kitchen while he sits in Marin's room with her and makes conversation between her stuffed animals. The elephant will ask the fox what his favorite color is. I'll feed Brite or rock her or fan her with palm leaves so she maintains the lifestyle to which she has become accustomed. We'll all go for a walk and check the mail. We might go to the pool. We might pile in the car to go get ice cream.
Marin will want pink ice cream, but she will prefer my chocolate. We will take turns eating mine, reinforcing "please" even in the face of ICE CREAM. Brite will start crying when I drive over a speed bump or the railroad tracks. We will drive home, me ice cream-less. He will hold my hand. We will start chatting about bath time. We will talk about watching a movie together after the kids fall asleep. Marin will say she doesn't want to get in the bath. Andy will wrangle her in while I get Brite ready for bed. Marin will say she doesn't want to get out of the bath. Andy will wrangle her out. He will cradle her and they will pretend she is a baby again. She will beam with the attention. I will put Brite down while Andy reads books and says prayers with Marin. Through the baby monitor I will hear those two watching a Peter Rabbit episode on Andy's phone. Once they finish, Andy will stay by her side until she falls asleep.
He and I will share a couple minutes of quiet in the house. We will be too tired for a movie. We will remember we are in the season where we pour ourselves out changing diapers, cleaning messes, rocking a baby, reiterating kindness, applying sunscreen. And we will remember these are the days that make our love story, every patience testing minute of them. We will be tired. We will use our last remaining energy to talk or look at our phones together in bed. We will say "I love you" and "goodnight."
We will never want it any other way.