spaghetti

Remember how exciting everything is in the beginning of a relationship?
You're nervous. Your palms sweat. You're constantly terrified that you have a booger in your nose.
And that person. They seem so perfect. Flawless. You could just stare at them all day.
Poop? No. They don't do that. Only imperfect people poop.
Fart? Of course not! Even if they did....it would smell like cotton candy and roses.
Get on your nerves? Never! They will never, ever, ever..EVER get on your nerves.

After a while, the guy gets super comfortable. Comfortable enough to not be uncomfortable. The plug is dislodged...and the winds blow. After that first bridge is passed, he never goes back. The winds blow forever and ever. And as you sit there with your nose hairs burning, you think to yourself, "wow....how can something smell like that?....he's so gross...but somehow I still love him."
Next comes the nerves. He does something that makes you stop and think..."oh my gosh. I want to punch him in the face....but....somehow....I still love him."
Then comes the day when you innocently walk into the bathroom and are smacked in the face with the dinner from last night that traveled through 20+ feet of your sexy man's intestines. Air freshener? He's too comfortable for that. And while you're dry heaving over the toilet that holds the left over contents that held onto the side of the bowl....you think to yourself..."wow. I still love him."
We realize they aren't perfect...but we love them anyway.

A few months pass and you finally decide to be "comfortable."
So you fart. You poop. And you get on his nerves.
But to your surprise, he isn't even phased by it. He doesn't "still love you..." no, he looks at you with eyes that say, "I LOVE YOU MORE THAN I EVER HAVE IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL AND AWESOME!"

(this is from our engagement shoot in 2010...he's all like "mmmmm you're so perfect")

All of that brings us to last night.
2 years of marriage.
Many poops, farts, and nerves later.
And my husband still thinks I'm perfect.

I started having contractions last night.
Nothing consistent, but definitely different from Braxton Hicks.
I have an overwhelming feeling of "Oh my gosh I don't know how to use my boobies!"
So I go to the nursery, grab my basket of breast feeding gear, and plop myself in the floor.
I pull out the user manual for the manual breast pump....and before I knew it, I had the breast pump on my right boob....still reading the step by step instructions.
I heard Tyler looking for me, but I was so deep in thought that I didn't respond.
The next step I read was to squeeze the handle with significant force.
I argued back and forth with myself
"No...no I can't squeeze it. That's weird. I don't even have a baby yet. What if something comes out? I'll freak out if something comes out. But I need to know how it's going to feel....yeah. I have to do it. I have to. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Ok. Go."
And there I went. I squeezed the handle with significant force.
...I watched in horror as the suction from the pump stretched my nipple into the funnel.
And little did I know, my husband had found me...and was also watching in horror.

By the facial expression I observed on his face...I know that he finally had an "I still love you" moment.

I'm pretty sure it went something like, "I just saw my wife experimenting with a breast pump.....I saw her nipple turn into a piece of spaghetti.....but I still love her."

When Adi gets here, he'll get used to the breastfeeding thing...and I'll probably go back to being perfect...but right now, right now his mind is pretty scarred.