Love is Sweatpants and Take-out, Actually

In case the marketing everywhere miraculously hasn’t reached you yet, it’s Valentine’s Day this weekend.

And maybe you’re like me.

I grew up watching Disney movies and rom-coms. Prince Charming, happily ever after, adorable meet-cutes, gigantic, suspenseful, highly emotional grand gestures, perfect lines in the perfect moment, so on, so forth, et cetera. Ah, that warm fuzzy feeling. That whole, “oh-my-gosh-that-perfect-guy-is-so-perfect!”. That sense of hope that one day, you might have someone bulldoze through crowds of people at a busy international airport to stop you from getting on that plane so that he can perform a heartbreakingly beautiful soliloquy about why you two belong together. Sigh.

happily ever after

I still watch rom-coms. And dammit, I still love ’em.

We don’t “do” Valentine’s Day. This will horrify some of you. Some of you couldn’t care less. And some of you will wholeheartedly support this stance. I have nothing against Valentine’s Day. At all. It’s just something we’ve decided not to commit to celebrating, by mutual agreement.

Well.

I’m going to go ahead and put all my cards on the table with this confession: despite this mutual agreement, I used to get all passive-aggressive at husband dearest whenever Valentine’s Day would come, and go, and we wouldn’t do anything because “we” didn’t believe in it. I’d still feel a little shortchanged. I mean, come on. Poor guy. How’s that for unfair?!

I used to be all about the grand gestures. The big demonstrations of love. The utterly romantic, perfectly crafted moments that take your breath away.

It’s funny though, because after almost ten years, and two kids, later, I’ve come to see love and romance in a whole different light. And I can honestly say that this year, for the first time, I’ve made peace with the fact that we aren’t buying each other the obligatory chocolates or flowers. I’m actually okay with it. I promise. A, in case you’re wondering if this is a trap, it isn’t.

Grand gestures and flowers and chocolates are all well and good, but I’ve recently made a commitment to look out for the little things that happen on a daily basis which show me just what love is.

And when you start looking for these little things – you’ll see love in them. They’re everywhere. Just try it.

Love is in that extra hour of sleep you didn’t even realise he gave you until you woke up feeling that little bit more human.

Love is in that secret look and the stifled laughter you exchange with each other when your toddler says or does something hilarious and maybe borderline inappropriate.

Love is in the fresh bottle of cold water that magically appears by your bedside lamp every night, because he knows you get thirsty when you get up to nurse the baby every two hours.

Love is in the realisation that it’s been an entire week and you haven’t washed a single dish because he has just taken care of it.

Love is in putting away the laundry your significant other spent time folding, because you know that folding laundry is no easy feat when you have an assistant that’s under three feet tall and considers “folding” to be synonymous with “throwing”.

Love is in that moment when you’re in separate rooms trying to get the kids to sleep, and you unexpectedly get butterflies in your stomach because you’re excited that you get to hang out with your best friend soon. It’s in that conversation on the couch in your sweatpants eating Pad Thai out of a box while you exchange stories about things your children did and replay videos of them being adorable even though they’ve only been asleep for five minutes.

Love is in those times you irritate the crap out of each other, and then you realise that being annoyed at each other is really no fun and you miss your buddy, so you suck it up and say you’re sorry.

Love is in the empathy he shows when you both know full well that, in this particular instance, you really are just being hormonal and maybe, possibly, mildly irrational.

Love is in the effect of that text message he sends telling you he’s coming home early.

Love is in the realisation that actually, you’re just as excited as your toddler to see him walk through that door at the end of each day. And not just because it means now there are more adults on duty to tackle the troops, but because your person is here and he makes you happy.

Love is in his acceptance of your obsessive hygiene standards, and when he uses your designated kitchen sponges in line with The System without making a fuss.

Love is in that moment when you’re trying to put your child to sleep, and just can’t anymore, and he comes in and takes over the bouncing, the shushing, the comforting. And you sit on the edge of the bed and just watch him love your baby.

Love isn’t always in the big moments. In fact, more often than not, it’s in those numerous, seemingly inconsequential, in-between moments that punctuate your day. The moments that are prone to pass you by without you noticing them, because you’re too busy waiting for the string instruments to start playing and the fireworks to shoot into the sky.

So take stock of the moments in your day. I guarantee you’ll be surprised at the number of things you’ll discover are actually the ways in which you both have been showing each other your love. That love has actually become so ingrained in your life together that it infuses so many of your daily actions and decisions. Things you do that you think are no big deal, but when examined closely, stem from your love for each other.

I’d take that over flowers and chocolates any day.

Where do you see love?

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Love is Sweatpants and Take-out, Actually

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s