Maybe he's no romeo...a word about my man

After I had my first baby I began to notice something a bit odd. As sure as men in barber shops talk sports, women in play groups bitch about their partners. I was puzzled by this. Frankly I was riding some kind of euphoric love wave with my man after birth. We had just made a family. I thought he was a fantastic husband and father.


Okay, fast forward. A few years and another baby and I begin to hear a disgruntled woman sometimes taking over and participating in the disgruntled discourse. The daily grind gets a lot daylier and grindier as time goes by and responsibilities get added. But here is the thing, we are doing something amazing. And hard. And fun. And tedious, and mundane, and exhilarating. We are being a family. It still blows my mind. As sure as I am giving this my all, so is my man.

I don't know why my husband thinks loading the dishwasher is cleaning the kitchen or why he thinks giving the baby cheerios is feeding her; but I know he is the best. And it is those silly little things that get me. Those differences that are big and truly fundamental have long since been acknowledged and accepted. Okay, mostly (I reserve the right for a bi-annual meltdown about fundamental differences). My complaints are minor even on the worst day. Problem solving or addressing is one thing but complaining and being generally plaintive is another. One is part of the human condition and inevitable, the other weighs us down and is, at least cumulatively, destructive.

On this, my lovin' one man show's birthday, I resolve to complain less and appreciate more. It is with the best of intentions and greatest of hopes that I also resolve to carry this cultivation of appreciation to my life in general. Thanks my man for helping me realize that (to quote one of our favorite movies) love is all around us. You try so hard for us...let's hear it for my man.