I read THIS POST weeks ago and I just couldn’t help but completely and utterly disagree
with it. I can’t even sort of get on board with it. I like to pride myself on being pretty open
minded and generally try to see both sides to every story, but this is just
crazy to me.
The article is
titled Why I Love my Husband More than My Kids. The title alone makes me
cringe. It’s a terrible title. Well maybe not…I mean it caught my attention and
I read it and now I’m arguing with it, so maybe just maybe it’s a genius title.
She goes on to
list reasons why she loves her husband more than her children. I don’t know this gal, I’m sure she’s a
wonderful mother and takes perfectly great care of family but I don’t think I’ve
ever disagreed with a blog post more than this one. I just can’t, for the life me, understand
where she’s coming from.
For me, the way I
love Bob (my husband) and the way I love my child (Lars, 3) are so different
and on such different levels that they are, to me, incomparable. Apples and
orange my friends. They can’t be on a list. They can’t be part of a hierarchy. My
love for Lars is nurturing, protective, instinctual. My love for Bob is emotional, romantic and passionate. The two loves never really collide, ya
know? I just don’t understand how one can
compare them and I certainly don’t understand how a mother could say they love one
more than the other.
When I look at
Lars, maybe he’s playing outside or singing a song, I might tear up because I
think, I will forever protect you, Lars with every ounce of my being or maybe I
think, I can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten or how much you’ve learned in 3
years on this earth. When I look at Bob,
he’s probably drinking a beer on the patio, I think hmmmm….he looks hot…how
many hours till Lars goes to bed or I think, what a lucky lady I am to find
somebody that’s completely selfless and takes such excellent care of us. The love and feelings are just so incredibly
different. There is no first or second for me.
There can’t be. It’s impossible.
You can read the
article for yourself and see the laundry list of reasons. I’ve singled out a few and listed my rebuttal. It’s not to shame my husband or make him look
bad, because he’s honestly the greatest man on the planet, but it’s just to
show how bazaar this list is. And for
every nuance I list, I’m certain Bob could list 4 for me.
– I don’t have to get up
in the middle of the night to nurse my husband (and if he were to ask, I could
simply tell him “not tonight”).
- While Bob doesn’t have
to be nursed in the middle of the night (and neither does Lars at this point) he
does snore and often comes to bed later than me, unintentionally waking me up
from my beauty sleep. But I still love him so much.
–
The two of us were an “us” before the five of us were an “us”. He came first,
and in my opinion, he should remain that way.
- Fact: we were the 2 of
us before we were the 3 of us but the needs of my husband and the needs of my
toddler are incomparable and I try to take care of them the best that I
can. I can’t even begin to imagine
trying to place their needs on a list of who’s first.
–
My husband NEVER says, “I pooped. And it’s really messy. Can you PLEASE just
wipe me this one time, and I’ll go back to wiping myself tomorrow? (True
story).
- I’m sure I’m not the
only gal who’s lucky enough to have a husband who tells them when they
pooped. Granted I don’t wipe Bob, I’d
pick wiping my 3 year old over being anywhere near the bathroom when my
husbands in there.
–
HE is my voice of reason. The calm to my storm. THEY are my storm.
(Beautiful little storms they are, but storms, nonetheless).
- Bob is without a doubt
the calm to my storm and maybe she’s in the most perfect marriage ever, but Bob
has also been my storm as I’m sure I have been his. Somedays the calm to my storm is getting home
and having sticky, blueberry dyed, marker covered little hands wrap around
neck. Somedays it’s having big hands with
callouses on them around my waist and a scraggly beard rubbing on my face.
–
Quite simply, he is, and pretty much always has been, my favorite
person ever. Favorite Person Ever is a hard position to replace.
- I say all the time that
Bob is my favorite person and he is but guess who was also added as a favorite
person, Lars. Together, they are my
favorite people.
–
He is my teammate. My partner. We work TOGETHER to love our kids well, raise
our kids well, teach our kids well, and enjoy our kids well. But it is HE who
remains my partner…not them.
- Yes! But does that
really make you love him more? How?
–
“They” (the kids) have RUINED my already, not-that-impressive boobs. HE
(contrary to what he may say) is going to be the one who is going to (pay to)
FIX my boobs. Unless I change my mind about that.
- Really?? You love your
husband more because you nursed your children and your husband has the ability
to pay for new boobs? You lost me there…even more than I was already lost.
–
He is my best friend. They are my babies. My little loves. My responsibilities.
My JOB. Blessings. Amazing gifts, designed by God. My heart, walking
around on three little sets of legs, yes. But… they aren’t my best friends.
They aren’t who I go to relax with, laugh with, vent to, unwind with, and dream
with. He is.
- I agree….with like half
of it. Bob is my best friend and Lars is all of those things listed but he’s
also my best friend. Maybe he’s not the
friend I go to for advice on home renovations or work stuff but he is
absolutely someone I go to to relax with, laugh with (are you kidding, the kid
makes me laugh more than anyone else in the world), unwind with and dream
with. He also gives me great advice in
what earrings to wear and what to cook.
Can’t I have 2 best friends?
–
He gave me them.
- Just to clarify and have a feminist moment…..I
had to partake in that fiasco also. There’s no one else I would have rathered made a baby with. He HELPED bring the most beautiful creature
into the world. A creature that taught
me an entirely different kind of love. A
love I had never known.
