We fight all the time.
Like not all the time, but we fight. Sometimes close to an event. Or an open window.
We’ve fought moments before someone’s wedding, after their wedding, during their wedding. Whispering insults out the side of my mouth in the pew mid-vows while trying to nurse a discontented Seb is not what I would call my finest moment.
We’ve fought in the car, on planes, during prayer group, in airports. There was a period of time when every single time we went to this one particular church, we fought in the car on the way there.
Sometimes when I’m scrolling, or talking to friends, or sneakily observing another couple jovially exchanging jokes at a party (yeah right, as if I go to parties anymore, more like the grocery store at 6;30am…) I want to ask them: “Yeah, I know you appear to be an unstoppable team, but do you guys, you know….fight?”
If I could count the number of fights we’ve fought just when it’s that time of the month ALONE….well lets just say I don’t have the patience to count that high.
And pregnancy. Yikes. I could create a fight out of absolutely nothing. There wasn’t a lot of logic floating around in that intractable heartburn, as Eric was quick to remind me.
Not only do we fight, but MAN. He is such a dude. First thing in the morning I change Seb’s diaper and clothes, make eggs and coffee, feed Seb breakfast, unload the dishwasher, reload it, and throw in some laundry. In Eric’s perfect world, first thing in the morning he would walk slowly over to the screen door. Look at the yard. Make coffee. Sits down.
I could fill a book with the s*** my husband does.
The other day I told him we needed to clean the house. His mom was coming over to babysit and I didn’t want her to have to wade through a week’s worth of mail and Tupperware in order to take care of Seb. Eric immediately started rushing around the kitchen, grabbing coffee mugs from my undercaffeinated hands and throwing them into the dishwasher. Perplexed at the obvious state of emergency, I asked him “what the…?”
With all of the intensity of a kid trying to figure out shoelaces, he said, “Well the other day I had a revelation: why don’t I just move faster?”
*cue Maureen spewing water out of her mouth across the kitchen*
I swear on my life he was serious.
Now, I’m not saying I’m an easy person to live with. I have been known to drink too much wine and keep us up late cheers-ing the air and proclaiming “another episode! another episode!”- and then the next morning roll over and beg Eric to get up with Sebastian.
Truly, we are two people who are difficult and stubborn and trying to come together to figure out marriage and kids.
Do I hate the fanny pack of Arizona that he brings to the table? Yes. I could do without tamales at each holiday and the cowboy boots with every outfit.
He would probably tell me he could do without the East Coast attitude, eye rolling, and Franks Hot Sauce.
But we each bring our own flair, and we need what each other brings.
It’s a nice sentiment, right? Something that we intellectually know to be a good thing?
But how often do we get mad because of something our spouse is doing? It’s usually not that it’s bad or harmful- just not what we would do.
Obviously, I think, in the morning, people need to be fed! The dishwasher must be unburdened!
But does it? Or does Seb need those extra few minutes of cuddling?
Does Eric need to stand at the window and brainstorm about his next yard project at the door?
Does a beautiful, crisp morning need to be appreciated with a few quiet sips of coffee on the couch?
In every moment when I step back, Eric comes through with something I never would have thought of.
Seb doesn’t need two me’s. He needs one of me to keep him alive and remember he’s allergic to eggs, and he needs Eric to flip him upside down and teach him how to do “cheers” with his play kitchen coffee mug.
We fight, And fail. And fight some more. But we’re better as a team.
He brings the laughter, I bring the water bottles, because, dehydration in Arizona is a real thing.
He brings the deep soul searching topics; I bring the jumper cables because he WILL forget to turn the lights off and the car battery WILL die over, and over, and over again.
I bring the anxiety and aptitude for taking on too much; he brings the calm and “you look stressed, let’s order pizza”.
I bring the “I can’ts” and he brings the “Yes you can’s”.
I could fill a book with s*** my husband does, and he’d proofread it and tell me it was good enough to publish, and I think that’s marriage.