Luckiest vaca in the world

3 Apr

Ok, so I have to do a little mushy mushy share and brag.

My sig-o… I ask myself (nearly) every day what I ever did in all my previous lives put together to deserve such a good guy. I must have been a saint. I do have to say nearly every day though because every now and then he goes and pulls some stupid guy stunt… like the spa episode. I now chalk it up to brain damage from early parenthood sleep deprivation and having to live with a whacked out woman (um, that would be me).

We’ve been together for twelve years. Thick and thin. Separated by borders. Immigration woes and triumphs. College, grad school, ESL classes. Trying to conceive. A soul-hollowing miscarriage. My attempt to kick him out after the miscarriage. Therapy. The joy and fear of another pregnancy. The elation of a baby born. The falling apart with postpartum depression/anxiety/OCD. The slow piecing back together. Job changes and a move. Putting up with me. Every. Single. Day.

He takes care of me. And I let him. But it wasn’t always that way… in fact, it was one of my hardest life lessons. Before I met sig-o I was a self-sufficient gal. I took care of myself and anyone in my vicinity. I proudly attended a women’s college (“not a girls school without men but a women’s college without boys” read my favorite t-shirt) — the last thing I thought I wanted or needed was a man. Especially a man who wanted to… take care of me. The thought of it was preposterous. Saying it out loud was like stringing together a series of four-letter words. Dirty. And then bam! The universe threw us together and everything in my world was turned on its head. I fought it, believe me. But little by little he chipped away at my armor and I finally let him in. And then a little more.

And it’s rather nice, you know, to get taken care of (and I don’t mean that in a gimme, gimme, gimme kind of way, but rather a letting yourself be loved kind of way). He gives me foot rubs. And baths. He comes home from work and puts the baby to sleep most days. He does the floors and irons his own shirts. He listens to me whenever and for as long as I need him to and supports me unconditionally. Don’t get me wrong. I do a lot to take care of him, too. And there are times when I wonder where the love has gone. Like when I recently had the stomach flu and he snored through hours of me retching my guts out in the bathroom and calling out for him. But I find myself wondering more and more how I got so lucky.

And then there are the moments that just put it all over the top. Like tonight, I found him cleaning vomit out of the car seat.

Sig-o

Such a simple thing. But I mean, really. How many guys would do this? I must be the luckiest vaca in the world (big, cheeeezy smile… and a little girly sigh).

Advertisements

5 Responses to “Luckiest vaca in the world”

  1. Branson April 4, 2011 at 12:52 am #

    So sweet! Yep, cleaning puke makes me swoon as well, haha.

  2. Kimberly April 4, 2011 at 2:14 pm #

    HAHA…swoon
    I think that I’m pretty lucky too. My husband’s still around and calls me hot even after I subjected him to chronic pain, PPD and well just myself. He deserves some kind of award or something.

    • danygrl April 4, 2011 at 2:18 pm #

      I’m telling ya, we must have really racked up the karma points in a previous life! But seriously, maybe we should start a “survivor of living with a PPD survivor” award for all the good guys out there. They really do deserve it!

  3. Tracy López April 14, 2011 at 3:23 pm #

    That could be a photo of my husband – seriously. I never thought that seeing a man clean puke out of a vehicle would seem romantic – but I love that man. LOL.

    Marriage is not easy, (especially interracial marriage – and ESPECIALLY ESPECIALLY interracial marriage when you don’t speak the same language.) As I’ve said on my own blog, my husband and I have been to hell and back multiple times – but, boy, has it ever been worth every second of it.

    • danygrl April 15, 2011 at 1:47 am #

      I hear that! We’ve had to work at it, but I have no regrets!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: