In reference to yesterday's post, although he saw past my thinly veiled scheme, my husband went along with my plan for him to cook dinner, but it wasn't anything fancy--grilled ham and cheese on grilled sandwich buns (leftover from Pioneer Woman's steak sandwiches that I made the other night) and a nice little pile of Tater Tots on the side. I don't mind that the meal wasn't a gourmet feast any more than I minded that the blueberry muffins on Saturday morning weren't served on pretty plates. As far as I'm concerned, it's just a nice little bonus whenever I don't have to cook but DO get to eat.
Someone expressed amazement at the thought of a man willingly cooking. My husband's actually a good sport and really doesn't mind cooking occasionally. In fact, he likes to bake--cookies, bread, and pies. After all, that's why I married him in the first place! Well, that and the little fact that I was pregnant at the time.
Connie tagged me with the Seven Things You Didn't Know About Me meme. I've thought about it a bit and decided that over the next few days, I'll reveal a few things about me. Some of it might be downright boring and some of it might be interesting.
So, number 1: I got married because I was pregnant.
My husband and I seem to be a remarkably fertile couple. I've gotten pregnant three times, all while using some type of birth control method. The first time I got pregnant, we had been dating for three or four months. After some deep thought and soul searching, for a number of reasons I decided to have an abortion. (That's fact number 2.) It was a hard decision to make and there have been times I've had regrets--who wouldn't?--but then had I not had an abortion, our son wouldn't have come along.
Yep, crazily fertile couple that we were, a few months later I got pregnant again--this time while on the pill. I swear I was taking the pill without fail because I sure didn't want to go through that ever again, but darn it, it still happened!
Let me give you a little bit of background here. When my husband was about eight years old, he was terribly ill with mumps and some other undiagnosed ailment; one night, he had a high fever and died. Totally stopped breathing, according to his father, saw that bright white light down the tunnel, according to him--all the stuff you've heard about. His father did whatever the early 60s version of CPR was, and my husband started breathing again. When I first heard the story, I thought it was kind of weird/cool/freaky. This man, I thought, must be destined to live for some purpose.
Okay, now flash forward to the second-pregnancy-despite-precautions time. Was this the hand of God? Destiny? Maybe our child would save the world. Become president of the US. Cure the common cold. Maybe having a child together was absolutely preordained.
One evening, a day or two after we learned I was pregnant yet again, while sitting on the bed, changing his socks after work, he asked, "So, do you want to get married?" There it was. Did I want to get married? No, I didn't want to get married. Not that way. I wanted romance and Prince Charming; I didn't want a guy who thought it was okay to propose with sweaty feet while changing clothes. So I said no. Eventually he persuaded me that I really did want to get married--to him even! We did and our son was born seven months later. He's 26 now, and although I've watched carefully with a mother's attentive eye, so far I haven't noticed any heroic character traits or the likelihood of impending scientific breakthroughs. He is growing into a person I really like and enjoy, though, and believe me, there were a couple times I had my doubts along the way. Like when he accidentally broke his sister's arm. Twice. Or when he stole tennis shoes for his high school girlfriend from Sports Authority. But I think he's outgrown all that now. Or gotten better at it, but we won't think about that.
My daughter came along three years and one day later. Again, we were using birth control. The really weird thing with her is that I knew--absolutely, positively KNEW--the moment I got pregnant, despite the fact that I told myself it wasn't possible. It was Mother's Day 1983 and my sister-in-law came over to pick up our son early and take him to grandma and grandpa's house. So really it was all her fault, as you can plainly see. How ironic is it to get pregnant on Mother's Day? And is it a coincidence that I also must have gotten pregnant with our son right around Mother's Day, since their birthdays are only a day (and three years) apart? No, so far my lovely daughter doesn't look like she'll be saving the world either, although she's big into tree hugging and wants to buy a truck she can convert to run on biofuel, so maybe she WILL end global warming or something. It's a nice thought anyway.
If it was our next child who was destined to save the world, then the world is surely doomed. After that Mother's Day 1983, my husband and I made a pact to stay as far away from each other as possible in May of each year. And although my husband will never be the typical Prince Charming type, he does cook dinner occasionally and bakes some darn fine cookies. Oh, and I found out his feet aren't really all that sweaty--I guess he was just nervous that night. As far as what his purpose here on Earth might be, maybe it's just to cook dinner for me when I'd rather quilt. That's good enough for me anyway!