Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The one and only benefit of this ordeal has been that I've had the time to notice some things that happen around me. Usually I'm too busy or hormonal to see them. But let's talk about true love for a bit.
-My husband dropped absolutely everything yesterday to take me to my neurology appointment. My family doctor said I wasn't fit to drive, so Jere walked out of work, drove the 45 minutes home, and proceeded to help me get into the tub. He had called on his way, and I was in tears because it was Monday, and I'd been sick for two Mondays, which means the sheets hadn't gotten washed. And I cried over it. So while I soaked in the tub, he stripped the bed and put the sheets in to wash and dry. And when we got home from the neuro, he made the bed and put me in it.
-Jerry has sat through all three trips to the ER with me. All at night. All on nights before he had to work. He even pushed me around in a wheelchair this last time, and answered questions when I couldn't form coherent sentences. He fell asleep face first at the end of the hospital bed.
-He keeps the fridge stocked, and constantly checks to make sure I'm getting enough fluids.
-He checks on me every 15 minutes while I'm resting. I usually don't need anything but company or a water refill, but he always checks.
-He's been a great sport about takeout food. It's hard to cook when you can't even walk straight, but there's always something to eat.
-He worries constantly about two things: my calorie intake and my fiber intake. When you're not particularly hungry due to a migraine and vertigo, it's hard to eat enough to satisfy an avocado sized baby. This has prompted him to bring home things like granola snack mix and ultra fiber cereal and a whole lot of steak.
-He keeps me, the baby, and himself rolling in cookies and milk.
-He washes his own uniforms, and never says a word when we're out of towels.
-The poor man has skipped numerous trips to the gym just to get home to be with his sick, moody wife. This may not sound so big, but after 4 years at VMI and 23 years in the Army, PT time is sacred.
-I told him the baby can't actually hear him talk yet, so he's taken to making vibrating noises on my belly, convinced the baby can feel it. (I get an extra big smile at that one)
-He loves his mama. Maybe that doesn't sound like a way that he loves me, but trust me, it is. The two call each other several times a week. I pray my kids love me like that when they're grown (not to mention I pray to have even half the class my mother-in-law has as I get older).
-Jerry has no idea how to clean a kitchen. If it's not growing things, it's not dirty. However, he sure tries! And I get to be treated to a beautiful sight everytime I walk in there: the dishwasher is always either loaded or unloaded. I've never had to ask. It just happens. And it's a prettier thing than snow covered mountains or white sand beaches.
Today's lesson: It's difficult to see how much a person truly loves and cares for you until you're unable to care for yourself. And unable to walk yourself to the bathroom, for that matter.
I am truly loved and truly blessed. And am now going to have myself a cookie.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Let's delve further into this obsession with neatness and niceness. I'm a planner. I keep a calendar on the wall, buy birthday cards six months ahead of time, and finish Christmas shopping in October (if not sooner). I have a box in the closet filled with presents so that I'm always prepared just in case I forget (not that I ever give myself that opportunity).
What's that? Is that a giant etiquette book? And what is that stacked next to it? Is that.....no way. A stack of ridiculously expensive stationary?! Oh, yes it is. I love the feel of good stationary between my fingers and under my pen. It gives me happy shivers. And having the answers to all my questions about the proper way to address said stationary before I send it off at my fingertips makes me absolutely giddy.
I love order. I love proper behavior. I may swear like a sailor at home, but when out in girl world, as someone so sweetly put it to me yesterday, I am "classy." Playing by the rules is just as fun as breaking them.
Though I am prone to reset the table in restaurants when it's not properly done when I sit down.
And our child had better come out of the womb expecting routines and slightly psychopathic organization. We don't even know the sex of the baby, but he or she is already well set up with a neatly organized dresser.But wait! What is THIS? Is that my DESK????
Today's lesson: Everyone has a dark side. Despite the bookshelves organized by subject and the very neatly addressed stationary that leaves my mailbox, I, too, have a wild side. I mean, it's only a messy desk, but inside I feel like it's the ultimate rebellion. *grin*