Wednesday Oui: I (painfully) love you

Aaron isn't a good husband.
Aaron is a great husband.

On Monday, after he got out of work, he went to Concord to do a carpentry job for a coworker. So, on top of completely remodeling Alien's room, (and the bathroom, kitchen, roof and siding that still need to be done in the very near future) and meeting all of his other "husband-to-a-pregnant-lady" demands, he has also taken on other construction/carpentry jobs. He isn't a glutton for punishment, mind you, but he is working really hard to make it even more possible that I'm able to take a long maternity leave without the worry of finances.

What that means is not only does he work a full time job, not only does he work other odd jobs, not only does every ounce of his free time consist of house projects but, he's also my slave. I may have failed to previously mention that since he knocked me up I came down with the worst case of lazy known to man; I have basically laid around fanning myself and eating grapes (grapes that resemble peanut M&Ms, that is).

Aaron isn't a good husband, he's a great husband.

So on Monday night, when I got home from work, he left a note on the counter and it simply said, "I love you so much it hurts" (with a picture of a heart with an arrow through it). Honestly, it made my night.

As part of my work I deal with a lot of client's relationship issues. One common thread I find woven through the tapestry of many couple's problems are complaints of "you don't love me" or "he doesn't love me" and "she doesn't love me" all defined by a prescribed method of love. Basically, we as humans (in my opinion) carry around rule book of how we expect to be loved and if our partner doesn't comply, well, there's the PROOF!!! We aren't loved!

I'm not to proud to admit that I used to be a card-carrying member of this book-club. Now, it's fair to say, I just have the CliffNotes (hey, nobody is perfect.) What I have come to realize is that Aaron loves me so deeply in a way that is profoundly his own. There are so many things in life that I don't have to worry about because he takes care of them; never do I lift a shovel or a trash bag. I don't walk the dogs when it's dark out. I don't even know where my snow brush is and I always *always* know... even on a day that I completely avoid any reflective surface, that I am completely beautiful to him. These things weren't in my book.

Would it be easy for me to lick my wounds and complain that he's always working lately? Yes, very easy. Are there times when I put my tongue to my skin threatening to lick a wound clean? Yep. But then I remember... there are a million other ways Aaron would probably want to spend the weeks leading up to his son's birth. A million ways he'd want to enjoy this unseasonably warm weather. This is one of the many ways he shows me that he loves me.

And he does. He loves me so much it hurts him.

How can I argue with that? Oui?