She 6

It’s been two months since I wrote the last post in a series dedicated to my love life. Well, I decided it was time to add to the story, as so much has happened since my last publication on the subject. You may notice that the title of this post is She 6. Well, you get a gold star for detecting that there is no She 5. Actually, there is. I wrote it for her, and it will never be published.

Once when I was young, my mother was assaulted while I was in the next room by an angry, possibly drunken doctor. I remember feeling helpless: I was too young and too weak to do anything about the situation, to protect my mother. I felt that same way that night. I knew that you two were arguing, but I didn’t know how bad it was until you called me frantically, telling me to hold on. Then the phone hung up and I waited. You texted me that you were locked in a bathroom with the girls and that he was screaming at you through the door. He was punching things, and you thought he might be drunk. I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up. I felt helpless- I texted you to call the police.

The rest of that story is for her to write if she wants to, but it was pivotal because it opened up a whole new world for us. 

You found a lot of courage that night and you grew as a woman and a mother. It was the first step of many that set you free.

Two months ago we started growing even closer because it was possible without the toxic thing around. We planned a date with your girls because I needed to meet them if we were going to be able to see each other more often. We went mini-golfing which was interesting for me because I hadn’t been around a 2-year-old for a very long time and they don’t much like paying attention of following rules. The 6-year-old and I got along just fine and I let her beat me at all 18 holes.

Since that first meeting, I have spent more and more of my time in their lives, and in the past five weeks, I have really immersed myself in a life with children, spending most of my days with them (and She.) My life now consists of everything sticky, screaming, poop, pink, cartoons, half-eaten diapers (Willie comes with me too, and sometimes we forget to put up the gate), No!, Mine!, onesies, pee, trolls, egg-animal things,etc. I don’t know, I love it. Everything is always chaos when they are awake. Everything, off of every shelf, every time. 

It’s a whole new level of responsibility for me, too. I’m not what anybody would refer to as a “clean person,” and kids leave a mess everywhere they go. She has been used to cleaning up after kids for six years, and me just over a month. I have some catching up to do. I like to think I contribute a lot to the relationship, but I think I could add more. I already do a fair amount of cooking, and I generally do my own dishes, but I don’t do them to her standards and I can see that she is maybe a little bit neuro when it comes to cleaning. It’s okay; these are the things you find out about another person when you get close. Shit, I used to smoke crack, so I don’t judge other’s behaviors and habits.

Nearly all of the time we are in harmony: We laugh, we kiss, and we love. No relationship will ever be perfect. As long as we address issues as they arise and don’t let anything build up, we should be fine. This is a big change for both of us, and it may take a little time to work out all of the kinks and details, and while we are doing that, we can fall in love every day we wake up next to each other.

It’s the middle of the night. I can’t sleep. I look on you and see the woman I love and care for. I see a woman, a mother, and my friend. I smile. I wrap my arm around you to keep you safe. I can protect you now. The world is right, goodnight.