In Love

What exactly is the right answer when one of your children asks: “Who do you love most?” Is there ever a right answer? Secretly I would love to tell each of my children that of course they are by far my favorite one. That may be the only chance I have that one of them will take care of me in my old age. But the truth is I love Daddy best.

There are so many ways in which my love for my children is better than my love for my husband. I do not mean the sex. The physical relationship I have with my little boys borders on obscene. I am dreading the day I can’t kiss them on the lips and bite their bare bottoms. I can go a days without sex but I cannot go close to an hour without smothering my boys with hugs and kisses.

First of all, I picked my husband. Of course we had to ultimately pick each other but he was the one I wanted. My kids: not so much. With kids you take what you get and hope for the best. While I love my children immensely, I do not always like them. I think of them more as an acquired taste, like anchovies. My husband is my best friend. Even when he does something I am not crazy about we can talk about it. I do not have to silently chant: “this is age appropriate” until the thoughts of homicide have passed.

I would never refer to either of my children as perfect. My stepdaughter comes close. But I truly think my husband is perfect. I hesitate to use the word perfect without clarifying that he is the perfect husband for me. I mean, of course he is not PERFECT. But would I want him to be? His imperfections allow me to be, well, imperfect myself. While I am the first to admit I am not the perfect mother I really do believe that my husband is the perfect father. He has so many diverse skills that come in so handy that I often panic at the thought of doing this parenting thing without him. I love my boys so much but not a day goes by that I am not convinced I am screwing them up. I often feel that my husband is just better suited for this parenting thing than I am.

I want to help my sons become decent men. I want so much for them to be the Renaissance man I consider their father to be. There are things that make me wonder if I am as qualified as my husband to achieve this. I throw like a girl. I don’t really like to sweat or get dirty. I have a hard time peeing while standing up. I have a very low threshold for anything unpleasant (that includes vomit, whining, de-skunking the dog, and anything involving rodents). On the other hand, my husband is more in touch with his feminine side than I am. He can cook like a chef, picks and arranges flowers, shops the farmer’s market like a pro. Plus he can sew buttons on and operate a sewing machine. He is sexy in his sensitivity.

If my sons turn out half as great as I think their father is, their future wives will be lucky girls. Or boys. Who cares as long as they are happy? And hopefully appreciated.

By Cathy Burke