Valentine

So, the thing is that everyone knows I’m crazy about my husband.

Valentine's Day fell this week. At no time is it more apparent how fundamentally changed I am now that I'm a mom than this particular holiday. Before I had children, I considered myself a big “R” Romantic –and in the grand tradition of all commercially driven holidays, I was a pretty big consumer. I used to make Valentine's Day a complete work of art. An EVENT. Bigger than New Year's Eve. I RESEARCHED it — I went on-line and looked up romantic ideas – is that pathetic or what? Thank goodness, my spouse was a good sport about it. Once, I made him sit blindfolded in the kitchen while I fed him little morsels of food from around the world. The theory is that all of your senses are heightened if you can't see... well, you get the idea. (Note: if you try this at home, pour a really good wine as an accompaniment and have a glass of water standing by just in case something you thought would be delicious makes your significant other GAG. Did I mention the good sport part?)

Anyway, no Valentine's Day was complete without some total sensory indulgence on my part –maybe a nice pedicure or a massage -- and hopefully, a nice shopping trip to Victoria's Secret. (Somehow I managed to make this part of my gift to my significant other.) Then I would spend hours whipping up some true gourmet extravaganza and chilling the champagne. Sometimes I got theater tickets or tickets to a concert. Once, I had a star named after my spouse. You get the picture; I was a woman on a mission. Big “R” Romance –just as Hollywood decreed.

This Valentine's Day, I took Tiny Jane to the pediatrician for her four month baby-well check. I love our pediatrician and I enjoy seeing her because A) she's a wonderful physician and B) she's not afraid to come right out and tell me my kids are perfect. Which of course, I KNOW and all, but it’s nice to get objective third party validation from an EXPERT.

However, I forgot, as I was making this appointment, that Jane would need more vaccinations. Four shots, two in each thigh.

FOUR FREAKIN’ SHOTS!

She sobbed, naturally. My children do not cry very often (they are really unfairly good natured) so the sound of them crying is hard-wired to my spine. And despite the fact that this isn't my first baby and that I no longer cry when my children do (not very often anyway), I did return home a distraught woman. My nerves chattered and jangled for about four hours afterward. A sensory experience, yes, but not exactly along the lines of those I had prior to children. Poor little Smiley Jane tried so hard to smile at me through her tears, I could have belted the nurse, I really could have. (Just kidding. Really. I promise. Kidding.)

So anyway, that got me thinking about all the other ways I've changed since I became a mom and then I had to laugh because the truth is, I'm not even remotely the same person!! And I don't just mean physically, although naturally, that's probably the one area that bugs me the most, product of this culture that I am. (Let’s just say there are parts of my body that would LAUGH at some of my Victoria's Secret get-ups. My undergarments these days look less Frederick's of Hollywood and more government issue. As in, the Russian government.)

So anyway, I truly think that I am a better person since becoming a mother. Maybe motherhood isn't a necessary step for every woman in order to grow up, but for me, I'm definitely more patient and more compassionate; more connected to the world and less selfish. I'm a better driver and a better family member. I am more committed to my marriage and a better friend. I recycle more. (I spent most of my life trying to have a huge impact on this world and now I just want to have a little an impact as possible.) I've discovered this whole new compulsion about feeding my family organic foods and supporting local farmers. I am less vain. (The other day, some time after I washed my hair but before my kids started using it as a rope swing, I pulled it back in a ponytail. Right before bed, as I brushed my teeth, I finally looked in the mirror for the first time all day. And you can just guess, right? I looked like the Elephant Man. I had some huge bump on the left side of my head where I hadn't gotten all the hair back into the barrette. And I had apparently looked like that all day. Lovely. Just lovely.)

And perhaps the biggest change is my whole approach to love and romance. I just don't need anyone to give me guidelines anymore on what romance looks like. I don't need props and I don't need a special day to be grateful for spending my life with the finest man I know. (Although, of course, I will still use any excuse in the world to open some champagne.)

I think maybe the big “R” Romance might be a phase, like adolescence, that you grow out of and are a better person for doing so. Little “r” romance is the stuff that lives are made of—it's the thing that makes me want to wake up every day for the rest of my life next to a man who fed me three meals a day in bed while I was trying to save the pregnancy that resulted in Smiley Jane. Little “r” romance is love. It shows up at the oddest times. Like when I am watching my husband with his daughters or seeing their little faces light up when he walks in the door. Like the time he left an incredibly stressful day at work to rush out and buy a vaporizer when we thought Ana was coming down with a cold. Like when he searched to find female astronauts for role models for Ana when she first developed her interest in space. Like when we'd been up all night fighting through our first stomach virus with Ana and we were covered with all sorts of distinctly UN-Hollywood gross stuff and our eyes met over some adorable thing Ana said and we laughed. Little “r” romance is seeing that juice glass which never quite makes it into the dishwasher (although it gets NEAR) and grinning. It’s forgiving the socks on the floor because of the look in his eyes when he’s making up songs to help with potty training.

I thought I was looking for Romance but the truth is, romance is what I was searching for all the time. Big “R” Romance only works in the movies. But little “r” romance grows over time. It's about someone to share the everyday stuff with; someone who counts on me and on whom I depend as my companion in this mad world. Maybe I had to become a mother to learn to be a good partner, I don’t know. But I'm decidedly more happy with the lowercase.

Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetie. This one's for you.

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