Stupid Cupid

I'm scrambling to get myself into the mood for tomorrow...the Big Day. V-Day. You know, I heart you and all that jazz? I love Valentine's Day, or at least I remember loving it once upon a time. This week I have been far too entrenched in ambulance rides, pharmacy lines and pulse-ox obsessions to remember how I used to love the little holiday tucked into the dead of winter drear. I did make valentines today with Small Fry, as it was a quiet activity we could do without causing my heart to race thinking about her heart racing. Teeny tiny little Winnie the Pooh valentines, plus a few homemade ones for the extra special people. She used lots and lots of glue. Her love of glue is unparalleled. But I digress... We're talking L-O-V-E here. Like the grown-up kind that led to these glue-loving children in the first place. But all I can think about is Cutie Pie's face in the hospital room the other night. The worry that creased his forehead. The tender way he took her from me and rocked her so I could walk the deadness out of my legs and dry out the sweatiness she and I had created between us. All I can think about is how he made a beeline to track down that nurse as soon as he heard that it had been over an hour since I had asked for the Motrin. All I can think about is how he picked up Big Stuff and got her off to school without waking us up, even though he had only had two hours of sleep himself. It's different, this love.

I think I once subscribed to this philosophy: When love is not madness, it is not love. Now I'm more in this camp: Are we not like two volumes of one book? Or maybe this captures it: We loved with a love that was more than love.

Heck, I don't know. All I know is that this guy is IT for me. And I know it's worth it to whip up a frenzy of romance every now and again. I'll work on it.