Thoughts on Andrew

      At one point in what's considered my adult life, I learned that when God says "Do", I don't ask "Why", but "How". So when a fifth little spirit whispered, "It's my turn," I prayed for courage to do it again.
       It didn't take many times to realize that pregnancy is my great trial in life, despite doctors and nurses and midwives and well-meaning friends. I don't know why God keeps sending me little spirits, while I am surrounded by friends who would give their right arm to have just one.
I don't know all the "why's", but I've learned a little about the "how's." Among them is #1, I married a good man. I knew he was good when I married him, but that's another essay. These pregnancies have been challenging for him, too. He could write his own essay on that.
Last night as he climbed into bed next to me at a crazy early hour (I don't do late, or even normal nights), and said, "Let's play 101 things I love about Natalie," I smiled.
       Day after day he arrives home from work to a mountain of dirty dishes, kids still needing help with homework, toys and chaos everywhere, and an almost vegetable-like wife (of the potato variety: you know, one of the really round kind) on the couch. Okay, not everyday. Some days I do get a simple dinner made, and on rare occasions I'll get the kids to clean up their toys and empty the dishwasher. But yesterday it was paper plates and pasta for dinner, with three loads of laundry piled on the couch. And me, nauseated, shuffling around in a zombie-like manner, attempting to function.
       So when he started his list, "You are beautiful," my brain seized. Washing my hair takes so much energy I need a nap afterward. I don't shower every day. Applying make-up? Only on days that I feel a surge of energy: hardly ever. And yet, he stills sees the beautiful me. The one that's really me. Not the zombie-creature.
       "You still have great legs." Here I agree with him. Whatever else pregnancy and sickness do to my body, I still have great legs. They are my best feature.
       "You are goblin craft." What the--? Turns out this is an analogy about the quality of goblin-made weapons from Harry Potter. Quality, able to absorb the strength of other materials. I apply the good principles I learn from others.
       And on and on. I don't know how far he got before I dozed off. ("Gracious" probably did not make it.) Not 101, but a pretty good list.
       Here is the man who has become the Dad and the Mom. Whose own needs go unmet. And yet, he still rubs my feet, knowing it won't lead anywhere other than rubbing my feet. He rubs my back and runs his fingers through my hair. He sits with me while I cry because I am frustrated and want a break from the never-ending yucky. He does not criticize. Does not tell me it's all in my head or that I should take a Prozac.
       If one of God's "why's" to rotten pregnancies was to teach my husband to be unselfish, loving, self-sacrificing, and patient, it's done. Lesson learned.
       What I DO know, is that when I ask "how" I'm supposed to accomplish what seems to be an impossible task, there he is: a little bit of God in the face of the man who loves me.