“I read your blog”. Four words, thirteen letters, a single flash of realization. I am a selfish person. Not in the stingy sort of way, where I hoard material items or don’t want to pay taxes or give money to charity. No, in the worst kind of way, the kind where you don’t even realize you are throwing someone under the bus until its said and done and they are whispering it softly in your ear, not accusing you, just reminding you that they are there. And this time it was my husband, who thought if even for a fleeting moment that I would do things differently if given the choice. And there he was wrapped around me, telling me its ok to want things that aren’t this. That aren’t a Friday night smooshed onto the too small square of our queen bed, vying for room to spread out because our daughter is climbing over us all and Cooper is curled up on a pillow, the other two beasts using one of my socks, as a tug of war rope. The steady thump his heart beat against my back and the baby’s breath ghosting across my neck, warm in the cold before we turn the heater on, her arms slung around my neck. No, my dear boy, I would choose to do this a hundred times if I could.
And so it’s possible that Johnathan Safran Foer said it best when he said “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” but it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t choose to live this life again, even with the gravity of a hundred other unlived lives pushing down on me. Learning to accept that things are different doesn’t mean that I can’t see that this is better, it just means it isn’t what I expected. Please , please, please know that I will always choose this. Choose you. Choose us. Choose three ill behaved canines and a little girl who can already outwit us both.