It all started with blueberry muffins.
My husband mentioned them as we were getting ready for bed one night. For those of you who don’t know him, the ‘mentioning’ is his way of asking me to make them without really asking. He very rarely asks for anything, so of course, I was going to make the muffins for him. I even set an alarm on my phone, which I don’t do too often these days, so he’d have plenty of time to eat them before going to work.
Fast-forward seven hours.
I did not want to make the muffins, people.
I woke up to my toddler asking me about a weird sound coming from the bedroom. I was getting ready to tell him to go back to bed when I opened my eyes and realized that he was in his bed. And so was I. The worst part is that I can’t even remember how or when I ended up in his bed, I only know it was after I had spent hours (or was it years?) in the baby’s room trying to rock him back to sleep. So after getting a few hours of broken up sleep, the only thing I want to do was bribe my toddler with the iPad, curl up under the covers, and go back to sleep.
But the dang muffins.
I heard the shower turn on, but I’d already given myself permission to go back to sleep. I knew that my husband would understand because he’s awesome like that. He’s always made me feel like I’m the most amazing wife, even though I know that I’m the furthest thing from it. But I realized something as I was lying there.
The way I was feeling at that moment, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to hide under the covers, is exactly what he must feel every single morning when his alarm goes off, especially after a mentally and physically draining, twelve-hour shift. He would come home late, go to bed even later, and be forced to wake up early to do it all over again. Getting out of bed in the morning wasn’t a choice for him.
But it was for me.
And the reason I have that choice is because of him. He’s the reason we have the life we do, and even with all the grueling hours, late nights, and early mornings, he’s never complained.
So the least I could do is make him the blueberry muffins.
And I did.
But it’s not really about the muffins, as much as it is about the choice.
The choice to put my husband first.
Because if I can’t put him first in the small, simple things, how will I ever put him first in the bigger, more important ones?
When it comes down to it, love is a choice. Long after the warm fuzzies are gone, after the newness of the relationship has worn off, when the days seem monotonous, and when you don’t feel it… love is there, choosing the other person day after day.
Sometimes that means being the first one to apologize or giving the other person the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes it’s choosing to see the best in the other person when you’re angry or looking past the laundry on the floor that didn’t make it into the laundry basket for the hundredth time. Sometimes it’s having your spouse’s favorite meal ready when they come home from work or taking the kids for a few hours so your spouse can have a break.
And sometimes, it’s something as little as dragging your groggy, exhausted self out of bed in the morning to make blueberry muffins.