year five

These past twelve months have been some of the most difficult for me personally. Since last October, we've miscarried twice, been to doctors, conceived a baby, all followed by a pregnancy marked almost continuously with some brand of illness or discomfort. (Though it has been a healthy pregnancy, and I don't take that for granted.) I've endured many personal, emotional, mental, and physical trials since Josh and I celebrated our last anniversary.

Yet despite my individual mountains, this past year has perhaps been my favorite of my marriage so far. One particular moment stands out.

I'd miscarried for the second time the night before. In the dark hours between night and day, Josh and I cried and held each other in bed, mourning another babe who wouldn't be. Josh still had to go to work that day, and as he was dressing he said that I shouldn't worry about making dinner that night. 

"You take care of yourself today, and tonight we'll go out to eat. Let's go somewhere special," and he thought for a moment, "like Red Robin." 

Let's go somewhere special--like Red Robin. 

I stared at him, knowing that he really meant somewhere not teriyaki take-out, and started laughing. Just hours after we'd lost the promise of a babe, we laughed together--and we laughed hard. 

Josh Wilson makes me laugh when I didn't think I could (and even when he doesn't mean to) and loves me always. Year five proved to me that amid storms, together we can always find laughter, light, and love. Mr. Wilson, how I love you and your fancy restaurant choices. 

an acts-of-service birthday celebration

Josh's birthday is this week, and I have a confession: I've struggled in the past with how to throw him an adequate birthday week celebration. I've had birthday gestures that have flopped simply because I think about what I would like instead of what my husband would like. So this year I turned to his love language: acts of service.

{Mr. Wilson and I on our Valentine date this year in downtown Portland.}

Instead of writing him love notes (which would make this words-of-affirmation girl swoon), I'm making his favorite meals this week. I tell him to go ahead and play one more computer game with his friends. I rub his back and make banana chocolate chips bars at 10:00 at night because I know he really loves them.

I research the perfect cobbler recipe instead of trying to fool myself into thinking he'll like cake better (because he doesn't). And I find an ice cream recipe that will go perfect with cobbler. 

When he tells me that he wants to have a LAN party with his friends, I say, OK! Let's buy you darlings nerds a bunch of pizza! Because here's the thing: this week is about Josh, and yeah, we're different. And I'm so grateful for that. When he turns 30 on Friday I want him to feel loved and appreciated. Maybe this year I'll do his birthday right, the way he likes it. And I like it best that way.

year four

Four years ago Josh and I knelt across from each other at an altar in the Denver Colorado Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  At the ceremony there were no photographers, no string quartet, no printed programs. We were dressed in white and surrounded by most of our dearest family and friends. We sat in the holiest of places, the air charged with the presence of unseen angels. We looked each other in the eyes and made promises to each other and to God. We chose to be sealed as husband and wife forever. That day was beautiful.

The years following that first day of marriage have seen both laughter and tears. Contentment in marriage isn't a constant, unfortunately. It comes in moments of grace from heaven, moments to be imprinted on our souls as a confirmation that yes, you chose this life and it is good. A contented marriage is won from work and love and sacrifice and more love again.

Contentment in marriage is a divine blessing, a rest for the soul and an anchor for the heart. This life of mine with Mr. Wilson is far from perfect, but I love it and I love him.

This post is part of a 31-day series on contented living. You can find the other posts here.

waiting for the window seat: a birthday dinner

"The wait was worth it, don't you think?" I say as Josh and I sit down to our window seat in the high-rise restaurant in the heart of downtown Portland. We look out over the river and the bridges and take it in for a moment, listening to the live piano music in the background.

"I'm so glad we waited," Josh replies.

We still have a couple of crab cakes left on the appetizer plate, and they are so good that Josh insisted we bring them with us from the bar to our table. I give Josh the rest of my share, saving room for the entree. We don't take long to decide what we want to eat, and after the waiter takes our orders I have another sip of my Shirley Temple.

When we'd ordered our drinks at the bar, Josh asked for a Roy Rogers--"And make that a double!" Sometimes I'm extra glad that I married him. Tonight is one of those times. 

We'd spent the first part of the evening at Powell's, wandering in and out of the rooms with the ease of visiting old friends. The Blue Room is always my favorite. I always find something in the shelves of literary fiction. 

We gaze out at the darkening sky, trying to pinpoint places we know. The energetic din of hungry customers dies out to a general hum as we hold hands across the table. "I'm so glad we're here right now," Josh says quietly. I smile and agree. We keep holding hands.

Our conversation doesn't touch much on our boy at home with his grandma, but I like knowing that I can conjure his smell when I want. I love knowing what's waiting for us upon our return, a sleeping boy who smells of lotion. But we still have time, just the two of us. We talk about ideas and observations and opinions, all those topics that don't come easily with a toddler at the table. We laugh a lot. And we smile. Love feels so happy.

The waiter comes with our food, and both mine and Josh's eyes grow big. We thank our server, and slowly start in on our meals. The honey-brined pork tenderloin is tender and juicy, so succulent that I have to close my eyes to take it all in. "Josh, this is amazing. Have you tried your short ribs yet? Try them." I stop talking to take another bite, or five.

The city lights start flickering on, reflecting off the river. The candlelight at the table grows more prominent and intimate. Yes, this seat was worth the wait. "I love you," I whisper. And I mean it so deeply.

"Do you think this place has to-go boxes? Because if you're not going to finish that, we need to take it home." My husband, always thinking ahead. Thankfully the waiter offers to box up my leftovers before I have to ask. Josh sends our debit card with the server, the sky completely darkened now. We see a rushing firetruck on the freeway, a cruising motorboat on the water, and a line at Voodoo Donuts snaking around the corner. ("Overrated," Josh says. "It's a destination thing.")

Just as we've decided to forgo dessert, our server brings a complimentary serving of chocolate-hazelnut-banana mousse--"Happy birthday," he says deferentially. Josh and I share the treat, marveling that we settled into feeling full instead of stuffed. 

We walk out onto the street, and Josh pulls me close as we walk the few blocks back toward our car. "Thank you for tonight. It's been perfect," I say. 

"Happy birthday--I love you so much." 

We drive home in the car Josh had back when we were dating, and he holds my hand as he shifts from gear to gear. We see the Portland lights at ground level now. My heart is full, and I feel so happy to be alive.

why we work

I'm linking up this post to Bonnie's blog!

{2013 family photos, Laughing Stars Photography}

I was listening to the This American Life episode this week, and they were replaying various Valentiney segments from years past. This one particular story is one the show has played for the past two years (sidenote: TAL, come up with something new for 2015, yeah?). The reporter interviewed a guy who had taken a rumspringa with his long-time girlfriend. The girl didn't want to get married until they had slept with other people, and so they took a month-long break and hooked up with as many people as they could. Frankly, I think that whole idea is awful. Unsurprisingly, the couple broke up.

In follow-up questions, the guy said that if he ever does get married, he wants reevaluate the relationship every seven years and then recommit if he wants. He thinks that the seven-year plan will make it so he can re-choose his marriage. That idea is also awful. Because here's the thing: if you want love, you choose it every single day.

{Engagement photo, Laughing Stars Photography}

Josh and I work because we choose to work. We work because we work to work. We work because we don't want an out--we work because we are eternally committed.

We work because he takes out the trash and I make his lunch.

We work because we both say sorry.

We work because I rock Asher in the night and Josh lets me sleep in on Saturdays.

We work because we cuddle in the mornings and kiss before bed.

We work because we know how important this marriage is. We work because we promised God--and each other--that we would.

{Wedding day, Michelle Olivier}

Every day Josh and I choose God, and we choose our marriage and our family. Love--real love--is hard won. When love is easy it's really, really fun, and we may be tempted to think that fun love is the important kind. But love is most important--and most soul-saving--when it's really, really hard. What good is love if it can't weather storms? What good is love if it can't power us through our ugliest moments? Josh and I work because our efforts are continual, because we choose to try again and again and again. We don't work because it's easy or because it's always fun--we work because we love. 

*This post is in no way passing judgment on people who are divorced or otherwise single. Relationships take two people to work, and sometimes relationships need to end for our good. It's no one's job to pass judgment on a couple's decision to break up or divorce. All working relationships--romantic and otherwise--require the decision to love.

there and back again with plenty of italics

I haven't visited this space in several days. The truth is that Josh and I took a long weekend away with just the two of us. I know. Aren't you even wondering where we went? I'll tell you: DisneyLand. I know, you're probably thinking, What kind of parents go to DisneyLand without their kid? Well, these parents do. Several months back, our friends Katelyn and Matt came up for a brief visit, and we casually made plans to go to DisneyLand together. And then here's the kicker: we actually made it happen.

You know when you're talking with friends and someone suggests something like going to DisneyLand and everyone thinks it's a good idea but no one actually does anything to make it happen? We made it happen. And it was wonderful. Josh and I sweet-talked his parents into entertaining Asher for the weekend (though let's get real, it's not like it's hard to get grandparents to do anything for the grandbabe), and last Wednesday, after a teary goodbye on my part, we flew to Orange County alone. 

We spent two full days in the parks, rode roller coasters, waited in lines, and ate way more food than we should have. We spent a day at the beach and went out for pizza. We stayed in a motel where the internet was spotty and the sheets were only slightly softer than butcher paper. The boys got along swimmingly, which meant that Katelyn and I had cumulative hours and hours of easy talk and heavy talk and lasting-friendship talk. 

{Mr. Wilson came out on the wetter side of Splash Mountain. Obviously}

{Those corndogs--you can basically feel your arteries clogging on the spot and you can't help but take another bite}

This getaway was just what Josh and I needed to remind us that we're still real adults apart from being parents. We're still us in addition to being Mom and Dad. We're still normal adults who have real, normal friendships with wonderful, wonderful people. And I'm kicking myself for not getting one single picture of all of us together.

{swiped from Katelyn's Instagram}

After all was said and done, Josh and I were so excited to see our boy and be parents again. I mean, seriously, how could you not miss this face?

{Grandma Karen kept us in good supply of Asher pics--I mean, seriously}

The lesson here? DisneyLand can sometimes be for grownups. Because kids aren't the only ones who like soft pretzels and Space Mountain.

a chocolaty betrayal

I made my New Year's cake yesterday. I made Edith James cake (a devil's food recipe) and decided last minute to deviate from the prescribed frosting recipe. Turns out the frosting I used--while pretty--was far too rich for this already rich cake. So, lesson learned. Stick with the sweeter frosting.

Lest you think this post is just about frosting, let me confide to you the real betrayal: my husband confessed he doesn't like cake. I know that logically this is nothing personal, but it sure is taking all my cake-loving heart has to not take this uber-personally. In a fit of comical dramatics last night, I blurted out that had I known about this significant character flaw a long time ago, perhaps we wouldn't even be married today.

(I jest. Obviously. Mostly. But really, I love him. For the record.)

Oh the sad truth that I married a man who doesn't like cake, when cake is my most favorite treat to concoct. And what fun is it to make a cake just for yourself? (Unless it's that peanut-butter ganache delicacy that I compulsorily hoard.) Wo, wo, wo is I.

[End scene]

Dramatic much?

year three

Josh's favorite joke goes something like this:

Some person: So, how long have you been married?

Josh: X years, but it feels like forever!

He's been telling that joke since we got back from our honeymoon, and to this day it's one of his favorites to pull out in a crowd. It makes me laugh and shake my head every time. (He's learned not to make that joke when I'm not around, because he's noticed that it makes people very uncomfortable when they can't see that I'm in on the gag.)

{On the wedding day, three years ago}

Year three has been wonderful and hard and emotional and loving. Having a babe in the family can really throw your relationship for a loop. We're sleep deprived and sensitive and don't always have the same opinion (gasp!). Sometimes it feels like the stars are aligning to incite discord. And then there are those moments of love and tenderness with my boys that outshine any differences. Our babe deepens my capacity to love my husband, and it's miraculous. Being a parent with Josh is the best endeavor.

{At lunch today with my boys. Clearly Asher was stoked about this.}

Marriage is primed for gracious living, probably because it's so damn hard sometimes. Apologies are just as sacred and important as the I-love-yous, and more often than not being right isn't what matters. Sometimes being gracious is the hardest with those we love most; and it's those most important relationships that depend on gracious living to thrive.

I can confidently say that Josh and I are happy. So, so happy. We're not perfect, but we are perfect for each other. We teach each other and we work together. We have a son who brings us both indescribable joy. There's no one I'd rather be with. Josh is, without a doubt, the love of my life. He makes my attempts at gracious living worth it. Three years ago today we each said yes, and I'll say it over and over and over for forever.

This post is part of a 31-day series on gracious living. You can find the other posts here.

the seventh day

This is how Sundays make me feel now.

{Instagram post from a few weeks ago.}

Yesterday was particularly hard. Asher made it okay through the three hours of church (which is a lot of church even for adults, much less for an almost-toddler who isn't yet old enough to attend the nursery), but then he crashed during lunch. His nap was okay, but earlier than usual, meaning that he woke up five hours before bedtime. That's a long time to be awake for a one-year-old. And that's a long time for his mama.

So mid-afternoon when I was ready to implode from physical and emotional exhaustion, I proposed that we all take a sanity walk. We walked around Wilsonville for about an hour, and it was bliss. The sky was overcast and the air was a pleasant 65 degrees. I pushed the stroller while Josh walked beside me, and we talked about the Sunday battles and why they are the way they are and why moving to a different congregation has been hard for me (for Mormons, the congregation you attend is determined geographically, so when we moved, we moved into different boundaries). We talked about fall and ventured to say that Oregon falls are our favorite. We laughed as Asher pointed at all the dogs we saw, and we swooned over our boy's winning smiles.

{Instagram post from yesterday's sanity walk}

That sanity walk was exactly what we all needed. Church is good, and attending is a high priority for me, even when it's hard. On those days when it is hard, I think that God gives me some compensation in the form of sanity walks, in the smiles of my babe, and in the hand of my man.

a eureka! marriage moment

I did it. I finally nailed down Josh's love language.

Yesterday was Father's Day. Obviously. We're not huge gift givers when it comes to holidays other than birthdays or Christmas. (Gift-giving is probably at the bottom of both our love language lists. We appreciate gifts--obviously--but especially when it comes to the two of us, we're close to indifferent about it.) So for Father's Day, I reciprocated what he did for me on Mother's Day. I let him sleep in, made him breakfast, took care of all baby duty to-dos (except for one poopy diaper Josh insisted on changing because he "had to be a father on Father's Day"), made him a cake, and let him indulge in Josh-time while I took care of everything else. I enjoyed doing it, and he seemed to enjoy it too.

So here's where my revelation comes in. Later that night he was telling me how much he appreciated the day and how it felt so special to him. Then it clicked. Josh feels loved through acts of service.

You would think figuring out his love language should have been easy, but when you're married to a man who has a hard time talking about feelings, sitting down to talk about love languages is probably not the best plan of action. So I observed. And observed. And observed a little bit more.

I observed until it hit me in the face that obviously Josh responds best to acts of service: letting him have the last brownie, making dinner after work, packing him lunch, suggesting he play on the computer instead of putting away dishes (sometimes), pouring him a glass of cold water because I know he's thirsty. It's so simple, I can't believe it took me this long. But here I am, a newly enlightened wife, and eureka! I'm feeling empowered.

I feel loved through words of affirmation, perhaps the most insecure of love languages? What's yours?

Mr. Wilson, fatherhood becomes you

I sure write a lot about motherhood and how it's changed me, but I don't think I've told you too much about Josh's fatherhood. Today is certainly an appropriate day for that.

Some of my most treasured days of our marriage are those first days after Asher was born. I can't adequately describe the renewed and amplified love I felt for my husband as I saw him love and care for our newborn son. Josh has taken very well to fatherhood; it brings out in him a tenderness and softness I don't think I would have seen otherwise. He's playful and silly, kind, patient, and protective. And Asher simply adores him. I wish you could see Asher's face when Josh comes in the door after work. It's like Asher's whole world just doubled in goodness.

I love how fatherhood has affected my husband. It forges a connection between us that is unique and intimate. As I see Josh with our son, my heart swells and leaps, because he made me a mother and I made him a father. We wouldn't be who we are without each other. Our souls and destinies are forever connected, more than they ever were before his fatherhood and my motherhood.

Happy Father's Day, Mr. Wilson. I love you.

what to do with a vat of curry

{Marriage lesson #1: When your husband offers to make Sunday dinner, say yes.}

On Sunday, Josh made us a vat of curry. A vat. He volunteered to make us (i.e., the two of us, his dad, and our friend Ian) dinner, and who was I to say no? I wish I'd taken a picture of it, because I don't know if my descriptions will do it justice. Josh made this giant, bubbling, savory tub of curry. 

Whatever possessed him to make so much, I'll never know, but I won't complain. After we stuffed ourselves silly on Sunday, I spooned a third of the leftovers into a container for the fridge and the remaining two-thirds into a giant Ziplock for the freezer. 

So what do you do with the vat of curry your husband makes you for Sunday dinner? You pack it for his lunch twice during the week, have it for dinner another night, and freeze the rest so you can do it all over again in a few weeks.

That's what you do with a vat of curry. Enjoy.

a red-letter day

College took me four years to complete, and when I left I emerged with not only a degree but also some debt. While a common situation, I lamented my debt and at first felt guilty about it when Josh and I decided to get married. (See, Josh made it through college with a full-tuition scholarship; sometimes he's so silly that I forget how crazy smart he is. Don't tell him I told you.)

So, I am thrilled to announce that last week

we paid off my student loans.

Josh earned a big bonus at work, and we were a little torn on what to do with it. (The possibility of leaving apartment living for good and diving into home ownership was so tempting.) We decided to pay off those loans, and boy, does it feel marvelous. Loan balance: $0.00. Zero dollars. 

When I was working, great portions of my paychecks chipped away at those loans, but really I have to thank my hardworking, genius husband for earning most of the money that paid back my loans and also for not incurring any debt himself. (Now how about he earn another bonus to get us into a house, yeah?) He's the bread-winner who wins the whole damn bakery.

the second time I fell in love with him

I let his calls go to voicemail twice. I answered the third time. I wasn't angry or even nervous. I was certainly curious. What could Josh have to say to me now, a year and a half since we'd broken up? In spite of all the empirical evidence against Josh, I agreed to see him. Frankly, I had nothing to lose.

{Christmas break 2009, three months after he called}

(For a while I wondered why I'd had that other serious relationship during my Josh hiatus. Why go through something so intense if it was never meant to be? Now I'm positive that that disappointing and frustrating relationship set me up perfectly to let Josh back into my life. Josh's phone call on that exact day wasn't luck or coincidence--it was Providence.)

After some pep talks from my mom, sister, and good friend Laura, I was ready to spend real time with Josh--no commitment, no promises, just time. We talked, and we talked about real things and real emotions. If you read Josh's post about the baby, you'll know that while Josh certainly has feelings, he has an incredibly hard time talking about them. But he voiced his feelings about me and invited me into his life in a way he never had before.

Over the next days and weeks I noticed changes in how I felt about myself. When I was with Josh I felt wanted and loved, a stark contrast to what remained from my previous relationship. The more I saw him the more I wanted to see him. After a month and a half of me holding back and him ardently persisting, I said yes. Let's try this one more time.

It wasn't long before I fell in love with him again, but don't mistake this love for the first love. I needed to fall out of love with Josh before I could fall again. My first love was something that I let happen to me; I surrendered parts of myself that needed to be there. This time, my love was a choice. This was a love matured and refined, felt and chosen. My love the second time had no ties to the love from before. Our first love hadn't been sustainable; our second one was--is--deep, enduring, beautiful.

{At my grandmother's funeral, 2010, three weeks before he proposed}

I choose you, my heart said to his. I choose to love you and to have you love me. I choose you every moment. You're my choice forever.

a small interjection from Mr. Wilson . . .

This couple's "how we met" story is about to reach its conclusion. Our heroine will find resolution, and the hero will find redemption. Let me set the stage for Act III:

I was casually involved with a girl down the hall, and on this particular day she and I were looking through some of my photos on Facebook. We came to a photo of Charlotte and me and I thought to myself, I would really like to see her again. I kept this sentiment to myself, and politely excused myself to make a quick phone call outside. I believe this is where our story picks up.

Any one of several thoughts may be going through your mind right now. "What does casually involved mean?!", "Was he picking up on two girls at the same time?!" or simply "What a tool!"

Your indignation is justified, and I am not proud of what you have just learned. But I think that it is the flawed characters of literature that are the most interesting, don't you?

the first time I fell in love with him

First off, thank you for all your kind comments on my post the other day. They were truly thoughtful and kind, and it's so relieving to know that I'm not alone in sometimes feeling out of my element as a mother.

This month marks five years since I first met Josh. I remember it so clearly. Katelyn and I were at a friend's dessert party (can you say BYU party?), a party that, frankly, I didn't really feel up for. But Katelyn convinced me to attend. The first time I saw Josh he was heading up a back massage train. (Yes, a back massage train.) We clicked immediately, and even though it took him three weeks to call me, he did, and the next month and a half was a blur of heart palpitations, infatuation, and incredible kissing.

{March 2008}

I was smitten. Oh so wonderfully smitten. This is it, I thought. He's it for me. I had never felt more compatible or alive with anyone. I went to a place where I relinquished myself to infatuation and unbridled giddiness. My mind and emotions were going faster than the rest of me could, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I never told Josh that I loved him, but I felt it. This fledgling, immature love was very real and, looking back, also very unstable and insecure.

Then Josh broke up with me at the end of the semester. I was crushed, devastated, throwing-up-in-the-bathroom heartbroken. The break wasn't clean, though, and I clung desperately to the hope that in the fall we would pick up right where we left off.

The next time I saw him, when classes picked back up in September, he was hand-in-hand with another girl. My heart broke all over again.

that weekend a few weekends ago

Remember that Josh and I had an anniversary? Remember that I mentioned something about going to the coast to celebrate? Well we did, and it was fantastic.

We kicked off our day trip with breakfast at our favorite breakfast joint in town, Biscuits.

Then we drove two and a half hours to Newport where we hit up the Oregon Coast Aquarium.

We saw starfish and creepy fish and jellyfish.

And sharks.

Obviously.

After we finished up at the aquarium we headed to the beach where it was C.O.L.D.

We had to really bundle up Asher, and once he was nice and cozy and not crying, he dozed for a bit while Josh flew his kite.

(You didn't think you'd get away with a coast post without hearing about Josh and his kite, did you?)

We headed to the bayfront where we saw ocean-y murals like this one.

And then we treated ourselves to halibut fish 'n' chips and chowder at Mo's, where we stuffed ourselves silly and then headed home.

That weekend a few weekends ago was so wonderful. I hope you have some wonderful weekends in your back pocket too.

year two

In the summer of 2009 I was included a group Facebook message from Josh.

Hey, everybody!

Wait! Don't stop reading just because this message lacks the intimate touch that a personal correspondence would have had. I would have stopped by now, so I thank you for your continued reading.

The thing is, having a phone in your pocket is a completely fine thing to do. So is jumping in the pool, really. But it turns out that if both of these things happen too close together, you may be faced with a horrible inconvenience. And so I pass that inconvenience on to you.

I was hoping you all could help me reconstruct my depleted contact list by either texting your name to xxx.xxx.xxxx, or responding with your number to this message.

I suppose that if you have been looking for just such an opportunity to get my incessant calls to stop, now is your chance to not respond. Otherwise, I'd love to be able to reach you sometime. Especially all of you beautiful ladies.

 

That may have been creepy,

Josh

It had been months since I'd seen him and over a year since I'd dated him, so the logical part of me said I should ignore it. Why would I need him to have my number? I honestly expected to never date him again. For whatever reason, though, I texted him; he had my number again.

What if I hadn't responded to that group message? What if he didn't have my number when he'd want it a few months later? When he'd finally get that urge to call after so long, would he have bothered to track me down, or would he have just chalked it up to fate, letting me go?

Maybe things would have still worked out. But maybe not. All I know is that I'm sure glad that I texted him my number, because otherwise I might not have had this day two years ago.

 

Happy anniversary, love. You're the best choice I've ever made.

fulness

I don't know what to write except that my heart has never been so full, so complete, so overflowing with joy, love, and the deepest gratitude.

For the first time in my life I'm understanding what it means to have the Lord pour out blessings so much that I don't have "room enough to receive [them]."

37 weeks--from Mr. Wilson

I had the idea for Josh to write a blog post, and I was giddy when he agreed.

Charlotte has invited me to contribute to her blog. I think she phrased it "visiting author emeritus," but it also might have been "guest writer." She also asked that I be serious.

I'll have to admit that her request is leaving me here with blogger's block. It turns out that jokes and quips are a defense mechanism I employ to avoid communicating any emotion or conveying anything about what I am feeling. How about a thought experiment?

Those who know me, take a minute and imagine a hypothetical. You are observing me speaking with someone, and I am suddenly asked a question where the only socially acceptable response would be me expressing an emotion. For example, "Josh, how is your marriage?" In your mind's eye (or ear) what was my response? Did I express my love for Charlotte and the feelings of devotion I harbor for her, which seem to grow stronger all of the time? Or did you imagine that I said something different, perhaps you imagined that my response to the question was something like, "Interminable."? So there is my point.

She wanted me to write about my thoughts on the upcoming birth of our child. When you consider the amount of emotion that is carried in a genuine answer to that query, you'll believe me when I say that writing this is a monumental internal struggle. Not because I am trying to express feelings that I don't have, but rather because I am feeling so much and I am trying to push all of it out of what has always been such a tiny outlet, like the pressure from a fire hose behind one of those plastic nozzles used to fill small water balloons.

I can't believe how much I care about someone whom I haven't met yet. Already I know that I am going to do anything to be sure that he is safe and loved and cared for. I feel relieved that I have Charlotte to share this responsibility with, and I know that she feels the same. I can't wait to teach him everything I know. I also know that it won't always be easy. Sometimes he'll need someone to play Mario Kart with, and that responibility will likely fall to me. (Hmmm. . . a joke. Old habits, I guess.) Son, I love you, and I'll do my best to be the kind of dad that I had, so that you will always feel safe and wanted at home.

That was a lot of emotion just now. I'm feeling a little dizzy, so I'd better go lie down.

-Josh