You have been in North Dakota for Seventy-Four Days, during that time you have been home for twelve days.
During all this time, some things have changed about our relationship: I am sure you have noticed. One of those things is that our arguments have been amplified and they take on more meaning than they would have if we were arguing about the same issues every day over the dinner table.
I am writing this two days after the trip that you made home from Ross on February 22nd. You were here for twenty-seven hours, and we spent twenty of those hours in bed. Some of those hours were just as I had hoped they would be, but the majority of those hours were spent with both of us sleeping--you because you were exhausted from the over-night drive and me because of my wonky guts.
It wasn't the jager and motel room weekend we had planned--but ya know, ultimately it was probably better.
I know that your buddies were heading to Williston for an overnighter, and I know you were invited to go with them--I know tht you chose to come home to me for those hours. And during those hours, we were wrapped around each other like those little cuddly monkeys you can buy at the Hallmark store during Valentine's Day.
It was awesome to listen to you breath while you warm body was curled up against my achey belly, I ran my fingers over you just to feel the goose bumps rise--I used to do that all the time in the early days of our marriage, when I couldn't sleep. It is a wonderful feeling to know that I can touch you all over and plant kisses on your shoulders and cheeks while you are sleeping, and I can do that because you are my partner. My mate. My spouse. My husband.
On Day seventy-four of this North Dakota thing, things have changed. Perhaps we both need to recognize that arguments we have now are exactly the same arguments we have always had about child rearing--and that wrapping around you like a orangutan is always going to be my favorite thing to do.
