Thank You, My Beloved

Dear Husband,

I love you.

Could that phrase possibly encompass all the feelings I have toward you right now? Is it even possible to put to words how thankful I am for you? How I am overwhelmed by you? How my whole world would fall apart if you ceased to be who you are? I am entirely in awe of the constant sacrifices you make just to keep me happy and sane.

This pregnancy has likely been as tough for you as it has for me. Sure, I’m throwing up. I’m exhausted. I’ve got aches in strange places. I’m not sleeping well. I can’t clean or cook or drive myself sometimes. I get out of breath walking down stairs. And lately, I’ve been an emotional wreck. I feel fat. And puffy. I worry about gaining too much weight. Maybe I don’t have scary mood swings, but I’m overly sensitive and take everything personally. I worry about everything and how everyone is feeling. I feel guilt for the things I can’t do and fatigue with the things I can. I’m constantly cranky and unmotivated and overwhelmingly tired.

But you’re the one who has to listen to it—to my stream of complaints—which is sometimes worse then bearing the burden. And you listen without judgment. Your responses are riddled with compliments and encouragement. You’re excited about this stage in our life. You constantly tell me how great I look or how much you love me. And when I ask for the 13th time in one night, “Will you still love me when I’m even fatter and puffier than this?”, you don’t get mad. You don’t get frustrated. You don’t even tease me. You actually pull me close to you and say sweet things like, “Carrie, I’m always going to think you look sexy, especially when you’re pregnant.”

It’s the simple things that make me crazy for you. Like how you’ve done the dishes for the last 3 months without complaint. Or how you make me dinner every single night because you know I can’t stand to smell it. Or how you clean the house or do the laundry or tend the garden. Or how you run to the store for last minute prescription refills so I don’t throw up. Or how you go out of your way to drive me to work and pick me up every day so I don’t have to walk the 10 extra minutes from the parking structure. Or how you go to the grocery store every week to make sure I have snacks. Or how you cancel your plans because you know (without me having to say anything) I’ll be too tired. Or how you’ll even go to bed early because you know I sleep better with you my side—even when you’re not tired.

You must be sick of this. You must be weary. You must grow tired of doing these things constantly for me—week after week. And yet you’re faithful. You expect me to sit on the couch. You want me take naps, even when there are things to do. You keep track of everything from the household chores to the money we’re saving for our baby, all while still working full time on weekends and several evenings. And most of all, you desire nothing from me except to grow this little one inside my womb.

How? How did I get you? How did I snag someone so generous, so self-sacrificing, so compassionate? I certainly don’t deserve you, my sweet husband. And yet, here you are.

Wonderful you.

“I love you” will never be enough after all you’ve given me the last 21 weeks. Thank you, my beloved.

Yours completely,

Wife