...and my husband, love of my life, father of my children, my best friend and ultimate confidante, might, and I stress the might, be fast approaching one of his very own.
However, to be fair, I think many who work in various aspects of real estate are currently considering those roads not taken... roadie for Metallica... first mate on a fishing boat... boy toy to older and wealthy woman...
But ye gods, people... I fear that we are only moments away from one of those Lifetime movie scenes where he comes home early with a red corvette and an announcement along the lines of, "Great news! I've sold the house and the business and bought an island... this is going to be awesome! We'll build everything ourselves... where's the hammer?"
And, being the Stepford Wife that I am, I will nod happily, call the pharmacist for a Valium refill and stock up on SPF.
Because I think, sometimes, it must be very hard to be the husband in a "traditional marriage". You know, the type of deal where he works and I stay home and civilize the little darlings... it's only now, that the children are older and I still have actual working brain cells at the end of a day, that it has occurred to me that, Hello, that's a hell of a lot of responsibility to shoulder.
I appreciate him so much for doing it... for not begrudging me these years at home... for not suggesting I stuff envelopes or sell Arbonne (although, I love me some Arbonne). He has never belittled my status as "stay at home mother"... which is pretty awesome. He also freely admits that he likes having his wife at home. He likes that his children were able to forgo daycare, a luxury many people don't have... I think Hugh and I both craved, again that phrase, "traditional" marriage". We wanted the picket fence and the 2.5 kids. We wanted to work through arguments of our youth and into elder care and senility... we wanted a simple life.
Of course, nothing is simple and our life is often so ridiculous what with it's filibert farms and the child who thinks he is a psychic and the chihuahua, but it is still the picket fence.
And my husband, my lovely husband, is in the kitchen making eggs for our child who had 2 teeth pulled this afternoon, and he is calling out to me all the possibilites of a different kind of life.
And maybe it's silly and trivial to joke and call it a mid-life crisis... maybe it's more about taking our picket fence on the road.
Or to an island.
Tell me, what's your mid-life fantasy?