As you may or may not know, for the purposes of this blog I have given both my son and husband a nickname in an effort to keep their lives semi private. I did this not because they asked, but because this is a blog from my point-of-view, and it seems respectful to allow them a little distance. But, let’s be real, I also did it because how cute are pet names? My husband, Big Radish, got his nickname due to his profession (chef) and the beautiful radish tattoo on his forearm (he has a lot of very nice tattoos, btw).
As I see the impending pinks and reds of Valentine’s Day approaching, I feel the need to say a little something about the fella I have chosen to spend my life with. Big Radish and I have been together for five years, and will have been married for two, come August. He is the epitome of what I need in a partner. The man is patient, has a sense of humor, knows how to calm me down with a rational mind which helps reel back my anxious-hypochondriac-worst-case-scenario mentality. He is a perfect counterpoint to my neurosis. He is also the kind of father who looks forward to coming home so much he can barely contain his excitement when he calls me from work to say he’s on his way. He lives for Little Bear and I, and if he could, he would get up every hour to feed our son if it meant he would be helping me out. Of course, as the one with the boobs, I save the interrupted sleep for myself.
I don’t mean for this to sound like bragging, except, it’s totally bragging. I find myself extra mushy because Big Radish is out of town for the next few days, effectively missing that oh-so-cheesy holiday. To be fair, we really don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, as the whole thing seems a bit prepackaged and sappy (no offence, holiday-heeding lovebirds). However, it is not unheard of that we throw an extra ‘I love you’ or maybe an off-the-cuff nice dinner at home in observance. So, with him gone, I feel it a little more than perhaps I would have previously. Typically, both he and I would be working on Valentines anyhow, as for service industry folks the whole holiday is a bit of a cash cow. Though, let me tell you, it’s no walk in the park. I could go into a whoooooole thing about how trying to get the attention of people making googly eyes at one another is nearly impossible or How. Many. Fights. go down in public on this most gushy of days, but, I digress…
Big Radish is away on a boy’s trip with his best friend. They do this trip every year. The two of them meet in Denver and they spend a few days skiing and catching up. When I was still pregnant, Big Radish had inquired if it would be alright if he still went, and if I had any issue with the idea that he would skip the whole shebang. I told him of course he should go. We both agreed that one boys trip and one girls trip a year is completely reasonable. It is a way for us to reconnect to those people we love while simultaneously trusting our partner to take care of the baby. That sort of trust may not seem like a big deal, but it is.
This is the first time I’ve had to solo parent for an entire day and night. My mother-in-law has been kind enough to come down and keep me company for a couple days so it’s not terribly impressive on my end, BUT, last night was my first night that I was all by myself with Little Bear. It took a long time for me to finally get him down, and he was up every two hours, but you know what? I did it. I feel like a total bad ass wonder momma. When I told Big Radish about it I could tell he was proud but he also never had a doubt in his mind that I could handle it.
I had enough doubts for both of us.
But, I handled it. I didn’t just handle it, I really knocked it out of the park. I am capable of doing this. I am capable of doing this because I’m a good mom, even if I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I’m a good mom because I have a partner who believes in me, supports me, and gives me the confidence to tackle these things without feeling like I’m flailing.
So, Dear Big Radish,
I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re tearing up those slopes and I hope you and your boy are having one too many beers and giggling (in a very manly way). I know you miss me, and you miss Little Bear, but we’re doing fine. We’re doing better than fine. I mean, he’s only peed on me twice and spit up down my shirt once, so…
Happy Valentine’s Day, you sexy piece of produce.