Alternate Ending

If I had to write an essay about yesterday it would be titled “Being Even Mildly Domestic is Exhausting” or “It’s Astonishing What You Can Accomplish without a Three Hour Afternoon Nap.”

Seriously, in anyone else’s world, yesterday would have been a completely normal, productive day. But to me, who has gotten more than used to coming home from work and crashing on the couch with cereal and a throw blanket until about 9pm, it was brutal. As I sat waiting while my car’s oil was being changed, I tried to read the book I’d brought with me, but at 3:30 in the afterrnoon I could not physically keep my eyes open. I even did the half second fall asleep followed by spastic head jerk to wake back up, much like what happened when I was riding back to school on the bus in first grade after a long day of playing outside and the bus would hit a bump in the road. Except back then, it was all of us who were yanked out of our short dreams to frantically look around as we slowly rememered who and where we are. Yesterday, I was the only one with the mini seizure, I was the only one wiping drool from the side of my face and off a page in my book. A little embarrassing, mainly because the book is actually interesting. So I took a little walk and pulled myself together for the duration of the wait.

I don’t know why it takes so much out of me to get through a “normal” day. When I got home, I refused to take a nap because I’m fed up with feeling like I’m the laziest person (not to mention wife) on the planet. So, I kept going. I cleaned and organzied and straightened and read some more. By 10pm, I was positively spent. I couldn’t help but think in the middle of all this, how in God’s name am I going to get through being a mom?! It was a saddening and scary thought. If I can’t get an oil change without passing out in the waiting room, how can I possibly manage one or two (or three?) tiny people and their needs on top of running an entire household?

And then I looked at Clayton. All of a sudden I felt such an overwhelming sense of how much I really do need this person. I can handle and do handle life, even when I don’t want to, often times because of him. If I had his children, our children, then I would handle it because in their little faces would be his face, the face I saw last night. And that’s enough to get me off the couch, if only for one afternoon.

I don’t remember ever having told Clayton, out loud, that I need him. I’ve always had a hesitation about expressing that kind of dependency. But last night I was so gripped by this feeling and the fear of what life would be like without him, I wanted him to know how necessary he was to me. So, with all sincerity, I looked at him in the eyes and said, “You be careful out there. In the world.”And that’s why I write letters.