Cruise Control

Ana popped by Sunday and we went on a walk. Is everything ok? She asked. Because I told you to hang back. We’d all been under the weather and I wanted you to rest, since you let me sleep in that morning. But I was confused by her question. I didn’t think much of telling you to stay behind and as I explained to her that we were better off taking shifts during family illness I got to thinking about the stage of life we are in. A stage of life where thank goodness we’ve developed a long-haul kind of love and we can simply cruise along. One that can sustain us through somewhat unromantic times like these. So I wrote you this love letter about how we choose each other every day and what that honestly looks like.

No one warned me that life could be this loud.

Morning always comes too early.
Our little girl breaking the silence of our rest.
But happiness sounds like tiny feet running around downstairs.

Look at the chaos we created without even planning to.

Pacifiers are all over the place, yet no where to be found.

Peanut butter is always on our counter and there’s dog hair EVERYWHERE.

Our house, it’s never fully clean. Open reno projects in multiple rooms. Leaves fallen in the yard like you never picked up the leaf blower. Crumbs on the counter, a broken banister, packages needing to opened, gifts wrapped and boxes recycled. Dog bones we’re constantly tripping over. Our bed linens laid in a heap.

Not to mention Felicity’s constant pleading cry of,
“Watch this! Look at me! I’m hungry!”

Some days, the noise swallows us.
We pass each other like ships in the night, as my sister says.
Handing off the baby, cleaning up the dishes, getting the girl to brush her teeth.
trying to remember where our last conversation left off.

One day the house will be quiet again my love and we’ll wonder where the time went. We’ll reminisce about when we were young. But right now, it’s not our time for quiet.

All this chaos and yet, I still find myself eyeing you in the doorway.

You and Lincoln wander through the house, cheek to cheek.
Or you’re fixing something that broke, and I’m standing there with a laundry basket full of bibs and burp cloths. It’s mundane but it was also my dream.

I pushed open Felicity’s door after I put Lincoln to bed and found you on your hands and knees, Felicity perched on your back.
“We don’t normally do this at bedtime,” you stated.
You were easing her nerves about her first day at a new school by turning bedtime the night before into something fun. In our parenthood journey we often find ourselves on the battleground of whimsy and stern. That night you chose whimsy and I think it was the right call my love.

I set out Felicity’s outfit for the morning
and left the horse and his rider behind.

Zelda followed me downstairs, and I thought,
How is this my life?
How did we build all of this?
It feels like yesterday you were a young boy dropping me off after our first date,
that hug goodbye still vivid on my doorstep.
I can’t believe we’re here now and I get to tidy up this home and raise babies here with you.

This is a love so big it hurts. I’m proud of us. Proud of the sturdy foundation we’ve built.

Now, even in this season when date nights are paused, we can cruise along.
Knowing, without even saying it. There is no one else I’d rather build this life with.

Every night, when the lights dim low and the kids finally fall asleep, I look at you.
In all this beautiful chaos, when our tired bodies lay next to each other.
I reach for your arm without thinking. “I love you.” I say. “Goodnight.”

You lean over to kiss me.
There is something sweet about the way we keep choosing each other, even when we’re exhausted.

B, you’re my favorite person, I can’t believe I get to raise a family with you. I’d choose this noisy, joyful mess with you every single time.