Monday, March 3, 2008
Preparing him for a brown baby
When C. and I were a newlyduo, I woke up first in order to address any pre-erupted pimples, wage war against my onion-induced halitosis and banish the squirrels that had holed up in my hair hell. Then I’d slither back under the comforter, nuzzle my head into his armpit and plant a double-minty smooch on his slightly parted lips.
If you think I kept that up for the past three years, you must not have both oars in the water.
Or, you must think I’m one sandwich short of a picnic.
The real not-so-slim and not-so-shaven "POJO Princess" has stood up.
C. knows I am the in-bed flosser. The baggy T-shirt PJ wearer. The morning fire breather. The squeaky “wheeeek” and boisterous “brrrmp” midnight sound machine.
He let me into his own masculine world of: Strange couch vibrations against my legs. Sweat-soaked sheets. Nose hairs needing a good ole weed whack. Half-hour-long disappearances followed by the familiar “Fllllusssssh”.
Maybe being asked “Did you just toot?” by the man of your dreams isn’t your ideal relationship. Maybe you prefer waking up to perfection with a side of infatuation.
I prefer the kind of love that endures even after life has stripped me of dignity. Like when I was in the emergency room, with fluids exiting my body in the most violent way, all while C. paced within “hearing distance” of the bathroom door. Just in case. "Honey, I can't reach the toilet paper without pulling out my IV needle..."
It’s moments like these that prepare us not-so-newlywedded for the real fear factor:
Oh yeah, I just went there.
Posted by sarah at 11:02 AM