Ready or not

holding hands

We lay on the couch, blankets tucked around our feet, fingers intertwined.  Frank and Claire’s strange relationship played out before us, and I couldn’t help but cry for everything changing.  People ask me if you’re ready for life to change, if you’re ready to be a dad, if you’re ready to share me, if you’re ready for the not sleeping and the selflessness and the sacrifices that seem to be an inevitable part of this thing called parenting.  People ask me if you’re ready, like somehow I’ve got a leg up on you. Like somehow I’m supposed to be already ready.

Truth is, you’re already the one holding me when I can’t sleep.  You’re the one making 84 trips up and down the steps hauling things too heavy for me to carry.  It’s you who has infinite patience when I’m on the edge.  It’s you calling me beautiful when all I can see is a swollen belly and swollen feet.  The dancing in the kitchen is more often your idea lately, and it’s your songs and silliness keeping me laughing.

Truth is, I don’t know if I’m ready to share you.

Our two-family is becoming a three-family very soon.  L1 will be on the outside, a squirming, squishy Whole Person. I can’t wait to watch you love our baby.  I know how huge your heart is and how generous you are with your love and strength, and I have to trust that your arms are long enough to hug us both.

I love our two-family.  I love being your wife.  Becoming a three-family, becoming parents, is equal parts exciting and terrifying.  There’s no one I’d rather do this with.  I just love you.

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