Late last night, the girls were asleep, and while I was in the master bedroom, I heard some furious whispers coming from the stairwell. I crept out to investigate, and saw no one there. I knew it had to be Ed making those noises, but at the same time I wondered what in the world was making him talk to himself?
As I wandered downstairs, Ed soon appeared with a spray bottle of Formula 409. Now I knew exactly what he was up to. There were several sticky little hand prints on the wall going up the stairs, and Ed had spotted them.
About a year before Ed and I were married, I brought up the idea of adoption. After having breast cancer, chemotherapy, taking the drug Tamoxifen for five years, and then having huge, orange-size uterine fibroids removed along with part of an ovary, I feared that I wouldn’t be able to have children. Ed and I agreed that if it turned out that I was infertile, we would go the adoption route.
When Ed and I started trying to have a baby, it didn’t take long before we found out Lily was on her way. I was unable to have my regular mammograms when I was pregnant and breastfeeding, so we didn’t try to have our second baby until I had that mammogram and everything checked out okay. Emmy was on her way three months after my mammogram. My fears, obviously, never came true.
And so when I saw those sticky hand prints on the wall last week, I was happy to be in my own, toy-strewn, chaotic house with sticky hand prints on the wall. This is the kind of house I’ve always dreamed of having. I resisted cleaning off those sticky little hand prints. A house full of little ones with sticky hands and mouths, runny noses, and giggles is exactly what I want.
Being sentimental about those sticky hand prints didn’t cause me to stop Ed in his tracks, however. Eventually, I would have gotten out the Formula 409 myself. Sticky hand prints on the wall can only be sentimental for a limited time. Plus, I have a rule…never interrupt your husband when he is in cleaning mode, or he might never be moved to clean again!
