Dirty Socks

We always dream about our wedding day, don't we?

When I was a little girl I had a collection of bath salts. I'm not sure how I got them or who gave them to me, they were probably a hand-me-down. (Benefits of being the 4th of six kids.) Delicate, antique looking flowers were drawn on the labels with the corresponding scents tempting me to dump them in the bathtub all at once. There was lilac, daisy, etc. Then there was rose. Rose was special to me. Maybe it was because it was the prettiest smell, or the most vibrant picture, but I decided to save it for my wedding night. It was the most romantic thing my innocent little mind could come up with at the time. Rose stayed in my bathroom drawer while other toiletries came and went. From bows to nail polish, from hairspray to makeup, only rose remained.

The pretty wrapping started to brown and the fragrance that once tempted my patience was beginning to remind me of Grandma's perfume. Somewhere along the years I lost rose. It wasn't too devastating. By this time I knew what marriage was all about, and my future husband wouldn't want a silly bath salt, after all.

I began daydreaming about being a wife now, instead of just my wedding. Brad had put a sparkly rock on my finger and I couldn't stop staring at it as I checked out items as a cashier at the grocery store. Some day my prince would swoop in and rescue me from this part time job and take me away to our lake house where we would spend happily ever after boating until sunset every day. We would have four children, 2 boys and 2 girls, and they would be beautiful and smart and healthy and we would travel the world as a family. I would be the most perfect wife, of course. I would work out every day and make dinner every night.

Life was just waiting to start.

After 5 jobs between us, graduating nursing school, moving twice and getting pregnant I found myself smack dab in the middle of life. Doing laundry, of course.

There I was, 6 months pregnant and sitting cross-legged on our freshly washed white bed sheets, trying to sort the rest of the clothes and trying to sort how I ended up home alone, pregnant, and still living in the Midwest. I thought when you were pregnant you just watch Netflix, eat ice cream and watch your husband "ooh" and "ahh" over your growing belly.

But there I was..alone..pregnant...did I mention I was doing laundry? I was attempting to work around this bowling ball in my mid drift. Throw the darks over here, throw the lights over there. As I was unrolling Brad's dirty socks from the slightly soggy wads he likes to leave me (we're working on it),  enough sand to fill a playground sprays out all over me, and all over our freshly washed white sheets.

THAT'S IT! That was the straw that broke my aching pregnant back. I was going to call my husband and give him a piece of my mind. He needs to KNOW what I go through every day for him.

I groan as I reach for my phone to call him. Just wait until I'm finished with him, he'll NEVER leave me dirty, wadded up socks again! (Ya right...)

But I paused. Partly because my phone was just out of prego-reach, and partly because I thought about the absurdity of calling my husband to yell at him about his dirty socks. His dirty socks that are full of sand not because he's going to the lake without me, not because he's taking long walks on the beach with someone else, but because he's building me a house. Our dream house. Because he loves me.

My husband loves me so much that he gets up before the sun every day to provide for me and our baby. He juggles opening new businesses while working on the house and still manages to come to every doctor appointment. He may not spend hours ogling over my belly, but he falls asleep every night with his hand on my stomach and that's enough.

I finally reach my phone and it only rings a few times before he answers, he's good about that.

"Hello?" he says. His voice is a little raspy from one too many nights of not enough sleep.

"Hey." I say

"What's up?" He asks

I sigh. Here was my chance.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you for working so hard for us and I'm proud of you."

"Oh." He responds. "Thank you that's very sweet."

We finish up with our I love yous and goodbyes and I set down my phone, still covered in sand. I smile as I somewhat clumsily get out of bed, brush off my yoga pants, and grab the hand vacuum to clean off the sheets. Maybe I'll go buy some bath salts, too.

It's the least I can do.