A conversation earlier in the day sparked memories of life right after Andy was born. I had a newborn baby and I couldn’t carry him because I was also fighting the depths of psoriatic arthritis. My memories of the early days of feeding him are me hobbling to my bed, climbing in and getting situated, getting a boob out and ready – none of which was graceful – and Matt placing Andy at my side to nurse. I couldn’t carry my baby. Matt worked full time, he helped me and met my every need, he managed the house and big kids, he got up with Andy at night…. He did everything, I didn’t think then of what life was like for him, I was preoccupied with my own stuff…. But it had to be exhausting.
He never complained. Never.
Never.
He is so good.
While I was having said conversation, Matt was speaking with an elderly woman we had just met. He listened interested and attentively as she told stories of her life and family. And he loved every minute. All day long he spoke fondly of our new friend… Relaying some of her stories, hoping she’s happy and healthy in the places life takes her next, ready to go to fight for her if anyone dare not treat her right. If he wasn’t still, to some degree, a stranger he’d go visit her and let her tell stories over coffee (or gin 😂) weekly from here on out without one ounce of selfish motivation or personal gain. He’s just so good.
We ended the day with a night run. He wasn’t really into it. But he went. With me.
Sometimes I get bratty, and ugly and fail to recognize all that he freely gives.
And sometimes I beam with pride as I let it sink into me how big he gives and how deep he loves. All the time.
Here’s to the good hearted ones – y’all make a difference. ❤️
End sappy post.