Every morning I leave him in bed. It has almost always been this way, as our business hours' are so different. He comes home after 11p most nights ready to eat and chat and unwind. I have already sometimes spent 5 hours on the couch eating and unwinding, and I am ready for bed. He gets to sleep in, and I have to be at work by 8:30am. Someone clearly has the better deal. And it's not me.
The irony with this arrangement, is that while I would much prefer working for myself, dictating my own business hours...and not to ever have to hear the sound of the alarm go off at 8am (yes, your math is right...it's amazing how much sleep I can buy myself by not going through the labor of applying makeup)...I would miss out on one of the most precious moments I get to experience in my day to day with Finance. That is our morning goodbyes.
On the rare occasion that Finance has been the one to leave me in bed, he is lucky to get acknowledgment of his departure. I am not the most affectionate person to deal with when you are intruding on my sleep.
Perhaps the phenomena that is our morning exchange when I am leaving the bedroom ...is due in part to the stark contrast that is the situation reversed. He undoubtedly leaves behind a pit viper, while I leave behind a fuzzy bunny. He even has his own sound effects if you ask him what he hears when I talk to him in the morning. I can tell you this. They aren't WORDS. Think, rattlesnake.
It's all in a moment. We're talkin 2 minutes tops. 2 minutes, every morning, Monday through Friday. I come over to him on his side of the bed, purse over arm, freshly sprayed down with perfume, sometimes still damp from the shower. I sit down next to him most times, not always, but I try to. And he wakes up and he rolls around, adjusts his body into a new position facing me and he mumbles how much he loves me and how great I am and he fades back to sleep with the most content and peaceful grin on his face. Always. And I run my fingers through his hair, and rub his back like you would calming a baby face down in it's crib. He feels so good to me, the moment is devoid of errands and chores, and who needs to do this and that. It always feels like a fresh slate. Every morning. A new day. And oftentimes it is in this moment that I reflect on how lucky I feel to be with this man. How loved I am by this man. And there usually comes a fleeting moment of panic at the thought that it might be the last time I see him. The last time I hear him tell me he loves me, or have the opportunity to tell him how much I love him 'this morning'...because I am always aware of the unpredictability that lies in the moments we are apart. Anything can happen.
His mother tells me he was always so sweet in the morning, that he would crawl up under her skirt and hold onto her legs, and nuzzle up to her with love. Now, he ain't crawlin up my skirt these days, but maybe thats because I don't wear any. Hmm. Making. Note. To. Self. Anywhoo. I hope some day, if I have boys, they are as affectionate.
Something changes in me every morning when I have that moment with him. I close the bedroom door, walk down the hall and out into the street to start my day, and I feel whole. I am reset. There is this incredible feeling of fullness, that comes with an exchange of this kind, that takes my breath away. It never gets old, and as much as I can predict the interactions, it always feels so innocent and so pure.
It is lust, of a different kind. In a nonsexual way. It is the lust of my heart that is filled completely by his love.
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