Disclosure: I am entering the third trimester. Anything I say cannot be used against me, because I may be hormone crazy.
Yesterday, my husband made some thoughtless remarks. He has an exasperating habit of recognizing these tactless moments by absolutely cracking up. There I am, waving my accusing finger and using every muscle in my face to demand he apologize, and he just giggles from the gut, eyes shining and dimples delving deeper.
Inevitably, I become the most annoyed the moment I cannot keep from laughing. Fudge. He has foiled my righteous anger.
This encounter happens at least weekly. But yesterday was different. All I wanted was to hear him say, “You’re right, my Love, that was a stupid thing to say. You’re wonderful and I wasn’t thinking when I made that absurd statement about your widening hips. In fact, let me get you some ice cream. Chocolate ok?”
But instead he questioned, still laughing, “Do you really believe I don’t love you, that I’m a bad husband, that I don’t say nice things to you or do anything to help you?”
Wait, was he hijacking my righteousness? That’s not fair. He’s the one who made those ridiculous comments! But it was too late. My eyes were opened.
Guys, I am so weak right now. Three months to grow before baby comes, and I already lose my breath just by standing too long. Any work in the kitchen requires just enough stooping to aggravate my lower back, and so I’m not participating in meal prep or dishes. And picking things up off the floor? Fuggedaboutit. Don’t ask me to wrangle the kids, or my heart might pump itself right out of my body. Honestly, I’m pretty pathetic, and I know there are about 12 or 13 weeks ahead where I will wish I were as physically able as I am today.
But Lyle doesn’t complain. He just does what needs to be done.
So moments after my righteous finger-wag, I found my opened eyes erupting in tears. “You’re so AWESOME!” I cried. No, not shouted – cried. As in “Boo Hoo” cried. That he was awesome. “I’m so worthless right now! But you’re so awesome!”
Of course, he laughed harder. And I obviously went directly to bed.
Today I’m thanking God for the man he gave me. That he can laugh instead of fight. That he serves rather than complains. I’m praying that God would use him in marvelous ways, and that I posted this story before he could share a more embarrassing version. Also that he would read between the lines about the ice cream.
I hope this inspires someone to laugh when you could fight, and be grateful today.
(For your enjoyment, pictured below is the giggling kid wrangler at the strawberry patch…)