Caroline and I got the triplets down by 7:30 last night. An hour later, we found ourselves in bed, too. Not that we immediately went to sleep. It was a couple of hours before we did that. Back in the old days, I’d have thought that was a pretty strong indicator that we, um, spent our time constructively. But given that Caroline’s pregnant and constantly lamenting one of the many of her body’s various sore spots? It meant we spent our time passively. We watched TV. Nothing special. Just CSI with a Law-and-Order chaser. Then came the initial acknowledgement:
“Valentine’s Day is on Monday.”
“I know,” I answered. “What do you wanna do?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline said with a sigh.
“Maybe we can get a sitter.” I said. “Wanna go out to eat?”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh. Well, how about a movie?”
“My back’s just so sore. I can’t imagine sitting in an uncomfortable chair for that long.”
“Okay. Why don’t you come up with something, then?”
“Like what?” she asked. “Monitor my swollen breasts?”
Caroline and I have come to grips with the fact that this probably won’t be the best Valentine’s Day we’ve ever had. And it’s not that there’s no love to celebrate. There’s more love than ever. It’s just that this time around, that love centers around an unborn child. And as a result, Caroline and I are taking a backseat.
Which is okay. Love’s never been a problem with us. (As evidenced by the unexpected fifth child that temporarily has us sidelined.) But make no mistake about it. We’ll be celebrating tomorrow with our usual abandon. It’s just we won’t be doing it alone. We’ll be doing it with our four children. And the fifth will be there, too.