Call of Duty

Usually I write about being a mom. I know I’ve written about my husband, but I don’t usually write specifically about being a wife. In the interests of nothing being sacred, I’m about to overshare. Tune out now if TMI is TM for you.

This morning after dropping the kids at religious school, my husband triumphantly entered the bedroom and declared, “We’re going to have sex now!” For various reasons, one of which being his recent vasectomy (nothing is sacred), and his abject fear of an accidental third child being conceived prior to said procedure (too many people told him the, “I was just about to get a vasectomy when…” story), it’s been a while. I won’t say how long, but let’s just say, long enough. TMI yet?

For various other reasons, among them, the fact that I have been up since about 4 am and haven’t showered, and have spent the past 2 weeks like a shut-in with my daughter who was recovering from her own surgery, I was not exactly raring to go. He looked like a sad puppy. I felt gross, but then, how can a gal turn down a guy who looks at her with such longing when she looks like such a mess? Every woman dreams of being so desired, right? Why is it that sometimes it feels like an obligation? We even remember hearing it called the “wifely duty.” Yuck. Who wants to do THAT??

I know I shouldn’t complain. I should be thrilled that the me I see and the me he sees are so different. I should be delighted that he doesn’t care what I smell like, or look like, or whether I’ve brushed my teeth or my hair, but it’s not always that easy. So, I try to push past it, to be the me he sees and not the me I feel like. To let his eyes be my mirror. Even though it’s difficult sometimes, it’s important to remember that I’m not just a mom, I’m a woman too. 

In the midst of our tryst, he gently kissed my forehead and whispered, “I love you.” In a moment’s time I went from feeling like a dishtowel that needed washing to feeling like a princess. Not a bad way to start the day.