This man, ya’ll.  I struck gold when I married him.  For the past three weeks, he has waited on me hand and foot.  He has dealt with my crazy tornado of emotions like a boss.

Not once did he make fun of me for my irrational, bad-patient behavior.  Not once did he complain or groan when I asked, for the millionth time, “Will you do me a favor?”  (And believe me, when you are stuck lying on your left side for a week, you need lots of favors.)

Don’t get me wrong–we’ve had lots of help.  My mom and meme have washed, dried, and put away load after load of dirty clothes.   They have fed us and ironed the girls clothes for school and taken care of all the last minute baby things I hadn’t gotten to yet.  I owe them big.

But it was this man who had to put up with my late-evening-stressed-out-ridiculousness.  It was him who had to get up in the middle of his television show because I could not look at that dirty cup sitting on the coffee table for one single more second.

It was him who had to unload my grandmothers car and reload our Tahoe with bags and carseats when they were going to the Harlem Globetrotters game, because I irrationally demanded they not drive the smaller car.  I was convinced that driving the smaller car would be a fatal mistake.

It was him who had to set me up each morning with my laptop, iPad, cell phone, chapstick, bp monitor, chocolate milk and gallon of ice water before leaving for work.

It was him who, when I had to do a 24-hour urine analysis that had to be kept on ice, refilled the ice bags that surrounded my pee jug every few hours.

And it was him, during labor and delivery, who knew exactly what to say and do to help me through.

True love doesn’t show itself in the easy, happy times, ya’ll.  It’s in these stressful, irrational, hard times that the light of true love really shines.