Friday, October 27, 2017

When Hubby Comes Home

It had been a long day, and I was genuinely tired out not only physically but also emotionally. My one month old daughter had been very needy and I didn't always know how to meet her needs, or exactly what those needs were. "Daddy's coming home!", I cooed over and over as I tried to make her feel better.

At last, the familiar, wonderful figure called Daddy, Husband, Provider, World Problem Solver, Delight to My Eyes, Strength to My Heart, Smile Creator, a.k.a. Jonathan Rudolph himself, jingled keys in the lock and appeared in the doorway of our apartment!

My husband made this for our 3rd anniversary

The rejuvenation of a welcome home kiss was more than anticipated as I cajoled and rocked our daughter and waited [im]patiently for the man of my day dreams to get to the top of the stairs.

Should I spill out to him how tired, exhausted, plain weary I am? Should I save that for later? Or maybe it doesn't need to be mentioned at all. That's it. After all, what else would anyone expect a woman to be after trying to enjoy and make a partially sick baby happy all day? Fine, I will give him a wonderful cheery welcome. He is, after all, tired too no doubt. 

Turning my mind's attention back to my infant, I tried to describe to her just how amazing it is to have Daddy home again. She also must learn how important having a good husband is. I should tell her all about it.

"Oh Sweetie, it's all gonna be better soon! You know what? Husbands are just a fresh of breath air."

<<husbands are a fresh of breath air>>

The words replayed in my consciousness, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with the comedy of (and partial truth of) the statement as I awaited my husband's welcome home kiss after his long day of working in clouds of plaster dust. Hilarious laughter filled our home. My tiredness ended up communicating for itself, for the analysis of any good husband will recognize the telltale signs of exhaustion in: 1. the scrambling of thoughts and words, and 2. something miniscule becoming a hilarity so deep as to keep his wife in a fit of laughter the duration of the time it took him to analyze, remove shoes, wipe the day's dirt off the periphery of his kisser at the mirror, and bound up the creaky flight of stairs.

So if you're having a rough day, and it's been almost more than you can handle, and you are trying to make a stirring motion at the stove while producing a bouncing motion for the infant in your other arm while walking to the fridge for sour cream, I hope you have a husband as wonderful as mine.

Or at least the ability to laugh at yourself.

May you have the gift of laughter at the end of your day today (and a wonderful husband besides).