I came to an unsettling realization recently: I married the
wrong man.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my husband. A lot. He is my best
friend, my soul mate, an amazing dad, the whole package. But there’s just no
denying that marrying him was a huge mistake. Another man would have been a
better choice.
I should have married a pediatrician.
 | |
| One of my all-time favorite pediatricians. |
Think of all the worry I could have avoided! All the
questions I could have had answered with no copay or waiting! Like, does my
one-year-old wake up 5 times a night, every freakin’ night, because something
is wrong with him OR because he’s a pain in the butt? And, is my preschooler
hearing impaired or do all kids his age talk so loudly they scare the cats? If I had just married a pediatrician,
the whole why-is-my-newborn’s-poop-dark-brown-instead-of-yellow-like-the-books-say-it-should-be
fiasco would have just been a sentence in our parenting story, rather than a
whole chapter. If I had married a pediatrician, the latest period of our lives—The
Ear Infection Epoch—would have
involved a lot less time watching Toy
Story 2 in 20-minute increments in the doctor’s waiting room. (I think I
have now technically seen the whole movie, in jumbled up bits and pieces.)
BUT…on the other hand, we are lucky to have access to good
pediatricians. We have health insurance for ourselves and our kids, so seeing a
doctor doesn’t necessarily break the bank. I am fortunate enough to be a stay
at home mom for now, so we don’t have to rearrange work schedules to get the
kids seen.
Hmmmmm….
Never mind. Forget marrying a pediatrician. I should have married a veterinarian.
 |
| Chris O'Donnell--hot vet on Grey's Anatomy |
Again, think of all the worry I could have avoided! All the
questions I could have had answered without paying outrageous fees or having to
shove snarling balls of furry fury into the cat carriers! Like, should I worry
when my cat sits in the corner staring at the blank wall like there’s something
there? And, really truly what is a normal number of times for a cat to barf in
a week? If I had just married a veterinarian, maybe he’d have some idea about
how to deal with the girl cat—a gorgeous, long-haired calico who is also a raging
b*tch who won’t let anyone but me and, inexplicably, just one of my two
sisters, get near her. (Since that sister lives about 2,000 miles away, she
can’t be relied upon to help with fun things like applying flea medicine and cleaning the cat’s, um, “bikini area,” which the
cat is too fat to groom properly. How great is that?)
But wait. My cat hates everyone.
She stares daggers at my kids and hisses at my actual husband whenever he dares
to get within 10 feet of her. Who’s to say she’d be friendlier to my fantasy
veterinarian-husband? He’d still probably have to use general anesthesia to so
much as listen to her heart, like my actual veterinarian has to do. While I’m
sure we’d get a family discount on the drugs, there’s only so much of that
stuff he could give away for free. And I’d still be risking life and limb (OK,
mostly just fingers) every time I had to get Her Highness into the carrier.
(Are you thinking right now, “Um, Molly? It’s the 21st
century. Why are you bemoaning the fact that you didn’t marry into all this
expertise when you could just as well have become a pediatrician or
veterinarian yourself?” Well, you just may have a point there…)
Hmmmmm….
Good news, everyone! It turns out I married the right man!
He is funny, tall, smart, kind, and just about all-around wonderful, despite
his woeful lack of medical expertise—either human or veterinarian. (Did I say
handsome? I meant to say handsome. WOW, is he handsome. I should have said that
first. Babe, if you’re reading this—whoo hoo! Are you a handsome devil!) I am a
very lucky woman. After all, who else is married to a man who explains to our
kids why our toilet clogs by making up a game called “Big Poop, Little Poop?” Who
else is married to a man who—thanks to his Xbox and a fervent love of sci
fi—could keep us all safe during a zombie apocalypse? Who else is married to a
man who has managed to ensure that our sons’ favorite songs are by Creedence
Clearwater Revival, rather than Raffi? Turns out I am very lucky, indeed.
Oh yeah. Since I’ve
decided to keep him, I guess that means I need to come up with a gift for our
fifth wedding anniversary later this month. Anyone have any fabulous ideas to
show the man of my life how much I appreciate him?
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