Charlie and Billy

It's amazing how having kids changes a marriage. Just as the stereotypes predicted, we never have time alone, "snuggling" on the couch means one of us has Charlie's top half and the other is stuck with his feet, and when Billy comes home, I'm typically make-up free and covered in flour (although, considering this means I've been baking, I don't think Billy minds the flour part). Yet kids cement the comrade part of marriage like nothing else.

I was thinking about this the other night--Billy had walked in the door looking professional and handsome, but tired, after teaching three lectures that day. Within minutes of a rushed hello and hug, I was back to making dinner and he was in sweats, chasing Charlie, bringing in the groceries he had picked up, and carrying load after ridiculously huge load to the washer. At one point, as I feverishly jumped between scrubbing the pots and stirring the sauce, I felt a little sorry for myself. I had become a harried housewife. But then I leaned out of the kitchen and looked down the hall and saw Billy feverishly jumping between folding the mountains of laundry and trying keep Charlie occupied, and I didn't feel so bad anymore.

We know that the moments alone will be even rarer with two little guys, and we've been trying to wrap our heads around how we'll balance it all. Billy and Charlie just started taking swimming classes together on Sundays and Gymnastics on Wednesday evenings. We're hoping this gives Charlie a chance to feel special and gives some bonding time with the new little fellow. Just out of curiosity I tagged along to both classes last week and I confirmed the truth of another stereotype: nothing makes you love your husband more than watching him be a great father.