Talking to our friends, I told them I didn’t mind having our son sleep in bed with us. “He needs to be close to another human. Besides, he’s really cute.” The husband pointed at me and said, “but you get to go to work in the morning.”

This weekend, I was so excited for a day off together. Sleeping in, making coffee, maybe even having sex if our son took a long enough nap. Besides, we were going to go visit a house we might move to, thanks to the inspired crime spree of car thefts making its way through the parking lot outside of our home.

When the morning came, a dirty diaper came with it. I took J downstairs and we practiced sitting up and standing up and spent some time playing with all the knobs and widgets on his wooden dinosaur. You slept by yourself for the first time all week.

I heard the shower turn on. You told me later that day that this was also your first shower this week by yourself. When you came downstairs, our little guy’s eyelids began to droop. You scooped him up and the two of you took a nap on the couch, repurposing one of the back cushions for a pillow, draping a baby blanket over as much of you and J as you could.

After the nap, several banana pancakes each (made from scratch because you’re a superhero), and a cup of coffee, we headed to the car for an hour-long trip to our possible future house. The house was fine, but a little further from our friends than we needed it to be, and without much for you and J to walk to outside.

We didn’t want to give up hope for our future home just yet, so we headed into town. We bought a homemade cinnamon sugar pretzel tempting enough for a momentary lapse of your gluten-free lifestyle and played, “Would you still marry me?” You would in fact still marry me if I insisted on asking strangers inappropriate questions. I would still marry you if you insisted on flying to Ireland every year to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

We regretted our treat ten minutes later as we climbed a steep hill in the heat of a southern winter, your stomach railing against your love for pretzels. The second house on our list, at the top of this hill, was not much of a reward. Two strikes and we were out, ready to head home for a family nap. We snuggled in, J even giving us a few minutes to ourselves as he snoozed in the sidecar of sorts next to our bed.

When I woke up, it was to the sound of our son crying. I must have been deep in a sleep cycle because I could barely open my eyes. When I did, you weren’t in bed anymore. You were standing up, your back facing me, stepping back and forth in a slow rhythm. You were holding our son, already rocking him back to sleep before I had even opened my eyes.

As we headed downstairs to look for some snacks after a late lunch, you told me that getting out of bed wasn’t a conscious action. “My body made the decision before my mind did.” Would you still marry me even if I couldn’t keep up with all you do for our family? If I didn’t even understand it all? You would.

Yours,

S