Babymoon or Bust

Babymoon or Bust

I really wanted to go camping for our last-minute babymoon. I planned on packing a blow-up mattress and rolling around in the tent like a walrus until I got comfortable, but then the weather channel showed rain and a high of 50 degrees.

My husband and I talked about going to Nashville or Chattanooga, but I am so close to giving birth (almost 38 weeks) that he wasn’t comfortable driving that far from the hospital. Plus, it was only for one night, and we didn’t want to spend it on the interstate, driving through heavy rain.

So, I compromised. I looked at the new, nicer hotels in our area, figuring we could just go out to eat and then crash. But all the hotels were booked. Terms out, it was the college town’s graduation weekend.

On Wednesday morning, two days before we were to leave for our babymoon, I got on Airbnb and searched for local cabins in our area. Two came up that had wonderful reviews. But the first was booked; the second was available.

In between packing lunches and getting the girls dressed for our weekly library/park day, I booked the cabin. I didn’t tell my husband until later that night, but he was just relieved we were staying in the area.

On Friday, sure enough, it poured. The cabin was only twenty minutes from where we live, and I was so ready for a break that I (unfortunately) was pretty cranky with my children. But then it all melted away when we arrived.

We walked over a little bridge to find the log and chink cabin nestled in a copse of trees, the raindrops still clinging to the red lilies sprouting up in the yard.

The cabin was far more beautiful than I anticipated, partly because I’d matched my expectations to the cabin’s reasonable price. My husband turned on the gas logs, and we relaxed in front of the fire with books before heading into town for a date.

It was so unique to view the area I see every week through new eyes. Even the grocery store, which I regularly frequent, appeared more alluring. My husband and I walked up and down the aisles, taking our time putting items in the cart. I watched families interact and felt love for the entire world.

Back at the cabin, I took a long, hot bath while reading a book, and then watched La La Land before the fire while eating some Halo Top ice-cream. I’d gotten peanut butter, and my husband had gotten chocolate. He decided he liked peanut butter better, and I wanted some of his.

As we scooped from the pints into bowls, I thought how that ice-cream was a metaphor for marriage. We each say “I do” with these preconceived preferences, and yet—over time—we find we appreciate what the other person has to offer even more than what we do. So, we mix our attributes together, finding that the combination is far more flavorful than what we have alone.

I am grateful for that. I am grateful for my husband’s steadying presence (like how he wouldn’t let me hike three miles down to the base of the falls in the rain in case I would slip, but hiked with me for a mile to the fall’s outlook simply because I wanted to).

I am grateful that he and I got away for a night, since he knows that quality time is the language of my heart, and that I have a hard time seeing beyond my nesting to-do list long enough to relax when I’m home. I am grateful that he is the father to our girls, and that we get to meet our new little girl very soon.

I am grateful for time together; I am grateful for the combining flavors of life.

What attribute does your spouse bring to the table? How do your personality “flavors” blend?