Posted by: angelnorman | April 3, 2009


Is it just me or does anyone else crave touch/ physical contact? As I mentioned before, this whole week I’ve been sick and whiny. With every headache, more physical pain arises. My head pounds, my shoulders tense up, my hips are even aching thanks to recently starting that good ol’ progesterone regimen (not pregnant; it was confirmed this week with yet another pregnancy test). I have wanted a massage several times a day every day this week, much to Michael’s chagrin. But even more than that, I’ve wanted someone to hold me, to run their hands through my oily hair, to trace my back with soft fingertips. I want loving touch, you know? The kind that sometimes Nicholas gives me accidentally that says, “I really love you, Mama.” But I want it from Mike.

It sometimes frustrates me that he isn’t exactly the person I want him to be. I am well aware of how this sounds and trust me when I say that I am not so naive as to think that I am exactly what Michael wants every single day of his life, either. I mean, no one is perfect and there are compromises and things overlooked and yada yada. Sometimes though, I tire of telling him what to do, what I need from him. Sometimes I just want it to be natural. I don’t want to ask a hundred times for my husband to hug me or to scratch my back or smack my butt as I pass him in the house. I just have this idea of the kind of affection I like, and he has the sort of affection he likes (hand holding in the car, kisses at scheduled times of day, etc). I want it to be the way I want it though. More of what I want, less of what he thinks is right. Selfish? Maybe, but dang it a girl needs things to go well sometimes. I need less that makes me le sigh in a bad way.

Again, I’m sure that he would like me to know that he wants a homecooked meal every once in awhile, someone who cleaned house more and nagged less, and someone who thought he was perfect. But alas, we don’t always get what we want.

However, as the song goes, sometimes we do indeed get what we need. I firmly believe this, and I think time and time again, it is proven to be so for us. This is where I get all giddy and tell you about how I’ve recently learned that Mike? He’s the most encouraging force in my life at any given moment. Therefore, when most of it is said and done, he is pretty close to perfect for me.

This weekend, I did something I haven’t done since I was less than 10 years old. I rode a bike. And by “rode”, I mean I went full throttle down a hill and forgot to use my hand brakes. Nice. Let me back up a minute and start at the beginning. We were at my in-laws’ house, sitting on the porch watching Nicholas and Mike play catch, when we got to talking about riding bikes. They were appalled by the fact that I had never learned to ride one many years ago, but on Saturday, they were exceptionally affected by my plight of having no idea how to ride a bike. My MIL said to me, “When you’re 8 years old, bikes mean freedom! What did you do as a kid to get away from your parents?” Um, I walked?

Eventually we got to the point where I was offered a bike to ride.

They pulled out my FIL’s bike and adjusted the seat for me. With my FIL on one side, and Mike on the other, I pushed off and wobbled to the right, falling into my husband. Laughing, we decided to go for round two. Same wobbling, except this time? I barrelled down into the ditch, dragging my husband with me. I used my feet on the grass to help stop myself (again, I forgot about all the brakes) but really? The best “brake” was my husband, who had his arms around my waist, practically lifting me off the bike seat.

This is why I dislike the idea of a small guy. No small weakling could do that for me. I need a man with big strong arms… to keep me from killing myself.

Anyways, we tried again and this time I actually got more than a few feet away without killing anyone/dragging anyone down a hill/ wobbling to the right. The third and final time was the best attempt at biking I had ever had in my whole life. I turned to face my husband, still a little embarrassed about almost killing him on the hill, and he was looking at me in a way that I hadn’t seen in years, maybe since I gave birth. Or maybe since Nick’s last birthday party. He was proud of me, I could tell. He was happy for me, that he could experience that with me. I smiled at him, probably blushing, while my ILs hooted and hollered about how awesome I was.

So okay. I don’t get the exact affection I want when I’m sick and whiny and need someone to caress me. Sometimes I have to argue with him about how to love me, about how to make me shutup so he can finally get some sleep.

But most of the time? I am perfectly content. He is more than enough.



  1. awwwww.

  2. awesome.

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