Dublin. 2004. Day 11 of a 12 day trip. No fights yet. Not when I sat down to play poker with the men cousins and Mike's aunt Rosaline told me that I would be more comfortable in the kitchen with the women. Not when we got lost in Galway. Not when we were tired and hungry and needed a place for dinner and we circled the same block for a half hour because he just couldn't decide what he wanted to eat. No, we made it through the trip without any battles, but now it was night eleven. And maybe it had all started to build up.
Getting ready for bed, I noticed that the bottom sheet was off the corner of the hotel mattress. I stared at it, long enough for Mike to pick up on what I was looking at, and said "fix the sheet, Mike." It's embarrassing to admit, but I'm a little ocd about a few things. Odd numbers mainly, but the exposed mattress/messy sheet as I am getting into bed is a big one. Exasperated, "Mike, seriously, just fix it", as I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. A few minutes later, calmer, willing to admit how ridiculous my fixation on the sheet thing was, I walked back into the bedroom. I stopped moving and inhaled sharply, choking on a laugh as I took in the room: the mattress had been stripped, bottom sheet, top sheet, comforter, four pillowcases, pillows, all strewn around the room.
I bring this up now, because the look on Mike's face as he watched me take it all in from the chair in the corner of the room, the mix of smile and holding back a laugh and "now what are you going to do" smirk, comes out a lot. Mainly when I am acting slightly irrational and deserve it. And as we talk more and more about when we would like to start growing our family, I can't help but imagine that clever smirk on our future children as they do something similar to put me in my place. And I'm beginning to realize that I am going to be outnumbered.
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