I wasn’t listening to him.  There I was, sitting on our porch, sunset, a South African shiraz, on our swinging porch seat, just back from a family walk.  Lucas in his car seat to my right, Abigail to my left.  My husband playing the boy, grilling up chicken tika masala with jasmine rice.  MyPod hooked up to the speakers. "That’s How Strong My Love Is" by Otis Redding.  He was telling me a story, leaning on our porch, watching us swinging, and I wasn’t quite listening.  I heard the words, but I wasn’t stringing them together.  I had my own words pooling in my head.  So much to love, there’s so much love.  I watched him talking, sipping and swirling his wine, and I thought, "I want to remember this."  And right then I wished for him, that he’d outlive me because I cannot imagine my life without him filling it up.  The sky was pricked with stars, the moon hung just so, and he was just a boy, telling this girl a story about Australian wines.  I interrupted him.  "I’m so glad I married you.  I mean, you’re impossible.  Challenging and a half, but you’re my best choice.  My best decision."
"Stephanie, I love you so much.  YOU, just you, the way you are."  How Mr. Darcy.  And I believe him.
"Even though I’m so damn lazy?"
"I love you, all of you.  Just you."
"Phil?"
"Yeah."
"Do you ever think being a parent sucks?"
"No."
"Well then you’re better than I am.  I left Alexandra a message the other day saying I can’t wait until she’s a mother so she’ll know how much it sucks."  There are moments, absolutely, where I think being a mother sucks.  "I just thought of refrigerator magnets and homework.  I didn’t think of this, a time in my life where I’d feel fat and unstylish, where I’d kill for a manicure/pedicure."  I spent each Wednesday night in NYC getting $19.99 manicure/pedicure specials.  I shopped for clothes, and when I spoke with the saleswoman, I instructed her with "big" as my defining adjective.  "What size?"  Big.  I thought, back in size 30 land that I was big.  I recently went shopping in fucking Walmart.  Walmart fits now.  Though, I have to admit, they have some really nice things.  I only know this because while at "Fourbucks" the other day, I stopped a woman, commenting, "I love your top."  "Walmart," she said.  "No way."  "Way."  So I went.  I shop for clothes at fucking Walmart.  When I was single, living in my 71st street apartment, with my dog, and my music, and my wine, and my DVDs, I never thought I’d be a woman with a husband and kids, shopping for CLOTHES at Walmart.  But tonight, I loved every minute of it.  My beautiful husband, the music, the wine, my children, parts of each of us, by my side.  As a single woman, I always wanted this life, and now that it’s here, I realize I miss the shopping life, the carefree, walk-the-dog-when-I-feel-like-it, and do it in flip-flops after my pedicure life.  I miss Fairway cheeses.  I miss my NY weekends, talking on my cell with friends, starving myself by day, for a scandalous night.  But I don’t want it back.  I love my decisions.  I love my children.  I love my husband, my best friend, who I put before everything else.