The good man

About six months after Elder Son son was born, I was still hopped up on post-partum hormones and suffering from massive sleep deprivation.
Pile on heaps of self-doubt about how to be a good parent, and you have a rather ugly picture.

One particular day, I was upstairs changing a diaper when the doorbell rang.
The Husband went to answer it.
I heard him greet our visitor, at first with a question in his voice, and then with a hardy welcome.

"Hey, woman!" the husband called up the stairs to me. "Do we know someone named Peter Rabbit?"

I can't imagine the look my infant son saw come over my face.
Peter Rabbit had been the name of my high school boyfriend.

We had parted ways badly.
Had bumped into each other occasionally... and awkwardly.
And hadn't seen each other in about a decade.

I still sent his parents Christmas cards, but I didn't think Pete even knew what state I was living in.

And yet.
He was... here?

"Well," I called back slowly to the husband. "I know a Peter Rabbit. (pause) Whyyyyy?"
"Because they're here!"
"They? You mean there's more than one Peter Rabbit down there?"

With a chuckle, I heard Peter's voice quip, "She hasn't changed at all!"

The husband invited Peter and his wife into our home.
I don't remember her name, but we will call her Pamela.
As in Pamela Anderson.
The original Baywatch babe.

Because Pete's wife was gorgeous.
Pete's wife had been a life guard when they'd met.

Did I mention she was gorgeous?

It turned out they were on vacation (relaxed and refreshed), traveling around a state or two, and just happened to pass through our town.
They thought they'd look us up.

And there I was, elbow deep in diapers, strung out on bad, bad, bad post-baby emotions, and dying for a nap.

Great.  Yeah.  Come on in!

We did have a nice visit.
Pete found The Husband charming (because he is), we found Pete's wife to be lovely (because she truly was), and I didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as I thought I should... probably because I was so dang tired I didn't care at the time.

After a delightful conversation full of laughter, we finally said our goodbyes.
The Husband and I waved goodbye from our crooked porch as the two of them drove away in their shiny, new SUV.
Of course.

Then I turned back to our toy-littered livingroom with its decades-old shag carpeting...
And caught a reflection of myself in a glass-covered wall hanging.

Baggy eyes.
Frizzy hair.
What the heck am I wearing?

Oh good lord.

I crumbled into a teary-eyed pile while The Husband patted my head.

"First of all," he said, "I think you look wonderful. And you were very charming and funny."
Sniff. "Really?"
"Really. And second?  If he thought you were anything less than the beautiful woman I know you are, then you at the very least made him feel really, really good that the two of you broke up."

In the end, I apparently picked a darn good man.

That's all I can say.

Happy Anniversary, my darling!