September 28th

My body is a miracle.  All women’s bodies are, actually – that no matter our shortcomings or careers or quirks, all of us are hard-wired to make babies.  It’s amazing to me that my body is making a baby, and all I have to show for it is exhaustion and heartburn and zits.  Inside, where my body has always been infinitely smarter than I am, it is just showing off.  I mean, honestly.  I realize that gagillions of years of evolution and trial and error and whatnot has given me – or rather, my body – this particular knowledge, and I am also very clear that I am but a host to this little miracle parasite.  He will survive even if I wither.  But it is a miracle nonetheless.

But that’s all genetics and coding and cells doing what they are trained to do.  Once we are on the outside, and the people we choose to be and the choices we make every day are what really stack up and matter.  Yes, there is this crazy unbelievable thing happening RIGHT NOW in my innards, but it’s not the only thing in my life that takes my breath away.

My husband cleans hotel rooms so the maids will have less work to do.  When driving, he waits at stop signs even when it’s his turn, just in case the other person is a) not paying attention or b) just wants to go first for whatever reason.  He always, always puts others before himself.  He is creative in the way he shows his friendship and his affection.  He nurtures his friendships with the loving care of a master gardener.  He never lets me wash the dishes when I cook, and since he can’t cook – the man can’t boil water – he always washes the dishes.  He notices my tiniest quirks and works to make his quirks and my quirks fit together as best they can.  He’s also stubborn and headstrong when he cares about something.  He loves it when I sing along to the radio, which is good, because I can’t shut up.  Hell, he just loves it when I sing.  He loves my family.  He loves his family.  He rubs my head almost every night – and he did that before I was pregnant with migraines.  He does a much better job than I do of getting involved in the things I care about.  (I try to like having the TV on with football all weekend, but it just makes me so sad.)  He is my constant wingman.  When we go to my work events, which is often, he will stand and hold my hand when I need him to, and he’ll go off and make new friends when I need to focus on a donor or constituent.  He is happy in a crowd, and happy with just me.

I am better because of him, in a thousand ways.  I can love everyone I know better because he’s given me new access to myself, which enables me to open up to others.  He is patient where I am rash.  I realize we’ve only been married for five months, but every day is better, stronger, more joyful than the last.  With him, nothing feels impossible.

So while there is a miracle brewing in my belly, the real miracle of my life is my husband.  Every trial I went through to get to him was worth it.  I would have waited twice as long, gone through twice as much desolation and despair, if I’d known he would be waiting on the other side.  I pray to all that is good that I never take him for granted, that I always see him for who he is, and that I am able to deserve him for the rest of my life.