The phone flashlight creates a spotlight on his bare back as he finds work clothes from our closet in the dark. My husbands back is strong and muscular, his black curly hair tied up in a low bun ever since a career change from the Insurance selling world, to a signal mechanic for the Long Island Railroad. He has been a self-taught mechanic, a grease monkey some say, since the day I first fell for him nearly twenty years ago. He stopped by the restaurant where I worked when we were only a couple of weeks into our courtship.
Me being completely nearsighted and once again without my needed glasses took note of the incredibly attractive man at the front foyer. I approached him, a smile so sweet it warms anyone it greets embraces me, his dark curly hair wrapped in a navy bandana that made me weak in the knees to see him wear
( which he still wears to work on our cars and it still makes me tremble), he’s wearing an old, loose, faded t-shirt, grey dickie jeans frayed and marked with black grease, as were his masculine hands that reached for mine. Fresh into our new days of love I was giddy like a teenager although just 21 years old to see that this catch was my boyfriend, my Alfie.
I feel pangs of guilt that I’ve been up till 2 am reading in bed, our three year old stretched horizontally between us creating an “H” that separates us most nights. When Al’s alarmed clock blared it’s obnoxious tune in the dark stillness of our bedroom I felt like I had been caught doing something deceitful, that I had yet to fall asleep while my husband had to begin his day. I almost shut my book light off to play dead, like I had been fast asleep, but I didn’t have a chance before Al sleepily asked “You’re still reading?”
I watched him begin to dress for the day. Thumbing through the closet for a flannel, while I studied his silhouette I know so well, his profile. Loving his carefree man bun- that he teases he had way back in his youth, before they even called it a “man bun”.
Watching him dress I feel like I’ve known him for as long as our own lives began. Yet I’ve only seen him small in photographs, loving each one more than the next of Al as a baby, or at three years old like our Evan. In this early morning my body is full with such love it’s near indescribable, like I’ve submerged myself into a body of water and although weightless and can easily float I am heavy with emotion….passion, protection, empathy and admiration.
Here in the dark quiet hours of our bedroom thoughts grow loud in my mind with sudden recognition. While I have loved Al immensely, for the last 20 years our time together seems suddenly insignificant to who has loved him as completely and intensely as I, but since he first took a breath into his little lungs… his mother.
I think back to the first moments of Evans birth. The fear, the hope, the love engulfing me as the nurses placed him on my chest. The tiny wrinkled stranger instantly soothed by my breath, by the vibrations of my crying joy and blinding, arresting love beating in my chest.
“ He’s so beautiful! Oh my god he’s so beautiful”!
I repeated several times to Al who was also crying and filled with such a raw, organic pride, radiating from his giant, dark, sparkling eyes- that his son now shares too. His son. And there in that moment I realized I could love like this, again. So surreal it lifts you out of your body -this instant love for your children.
Friends teased me during my pregnancy. Moms of boys. “Wait till he’s here. You’ll see what we mean. Of course you love Maya fiercely (our first born ), but wait till that boy is in your arms.
Snuggling Evans warm snoring little body, Al sits on the edge of our bed to put his socks on. I feel like his mom is right next to me now because I feel her love for her son, her “Alfie too” as warmly as the epiphany covering my being like a blanket in this moment, and just as much as I love Evan.
Al is the youngest out of five siblings, and the only boy. When he was two or three years old he chased after his older sisters trailing behind them saying “Alfie too, Alfie too”.
I know this adorable scenario because of my mother-in-law who’s face lights up an entire room, with her smile as she reminisces the days of her youth and her baby boy. And no matter how many times I have heard her tell me about “Alfie too” I wholeheartedly smile like it’s the first time I’m imagining a little Al running after his sisters.
Alfie isn’t just my Alfie. He was loved so deeply before there was a He and I by his nurturing mother and doting four older sisters, where his nickname I’ve adopted was even invented, Alfie. He’s this strong, kind, loving husband and dedicated father from that first love he received from his parents, and sisters.
I always knew his family shaped my husband into the man I met twenty years ago as a 22 year old fella. I even thanked them from time to time in Birthday cards, or after a couple of glasses of wine expressing my gratitude for being such wonderful sisters to Al. Yet, try as we did my mother in law and I have remained strained in our relationship over the years.
Many referred to it as a stereotypical daughter in-law mother in-law dynamic. The wife that takes the son away. And while I tried to be the kind of daughter in- law that didn’t do that…take her Alfie away, it’s simply how she felt. Of course we got along ( a few loud discussions over the years), for the most part and she’s been a loving grandmother and in-law, we just haven’t fully connected.
Al kisses me on my forehead goodbye as he walks out of our room for work. Evan tosses and turns and repositions himself for the thirteenth time landing his thirty- three pound body across my torso, his long arm stretching across my neck and face. I scoop him and slide him over spooning his little curled body.
I get it now. I have always known how much my mother in-law loved Al, but it took me to have a son of my own….and just about three years later, of full time care taking and moments of adoration from my son to completely understand that love of hers. How she cared for him nurturing him morning through night. A little Al looking up at his beautiful mom, with his giant brown eyes and little round face.
Evan sees me as the love of his life right now. He’ll climb in my lap and sigh
“You’re my mama”.
The weight of his body on mine as he falls asleep so soothed by my embrace. He’ll say to me out of no where
“You’re so bootiful mommy”
while my unwashed hair is thrown hastily in a high bun, no make up on, bags under my eyes and bordering pajamas as my outfit; and I melt like it’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever heard, because it truly is coming from my little boy.
Recently he woke after a nap and while looking at our wedding picture on our headboard asked me in a sleepy groggy voice
“ You a princess mama?”
it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t dreaming by the direction of his gaze at our photo, and I replied
“ Oh yes, I was for a day, and daddy was my prince”.
Evan furrowed his forehead and said with pouted lips
“ No I AM you prince mommy”.
Yes, yes you certainly are my prince my Evie….
As once upon a time my husband was his moms prince, too. Still.
Maybe it took me to have this moment in the middle of the night, Evan cradled in my arms to realize the depth of a Mothers love for her son. Perhaps the disconnect between my mother in-law was within me all along because it is a distinct bond I have discovered between me and Evan. The way I care for him, the way I’m his princess, and so bootiful. How everything I do, or cook for him is simply the best. He’s truly my biggest admirer. That special relationship our daughter and Al share, I have found with our son.
Having a son of my own has given me the perspective of seeing my husband as a little boy with his mommy, that until I had Evan, as much as I respected my mother in-laws love and relationship with Al, I simply didn’t know. Yet.
We are connected… We share the love of her son….of our sons.
And when Evan one day grows to be a man, maybe even a husband with a son of his own, and our Maya possibly a daughter in-law too, I’ll be waiting for the evolution, this evolution, of a shared love to begin….
P.P.S.S. – Simply tipShe tip:
When dealing with the sometimes challenging dynamics of mother in law / daughter in law relationship… do try to see it from her eyes, the times she shared when your fella- was just her little boy ❤️
Simply tipShe 