Chris & I have both taken the 5 Love Languages quiz a few times over the years. He recently took it again for work, and he scored high in the areas of quality time & physical touch. This is dangerous for a new mom. I don’t have a lot of time or energy left after doing both of those with my kids! Anyway, I’m one of those nerds who wants to get it right. I find myself asking Chris, “Does this fill up your love tank?” at the most random times – in the middle of a kiss, sitting next to him while he plays video games, etc. I honestly want to know what makes him feel most satisfied & fulfilled. Why? Mostly because I love him more than I love myself. But also because I want him to get it right when it comes to my love languages!
It’s funny to see how my desires have changed since getting married and then having children. I used to thrive on words of affirmation and physical touch. Now, I find my heart fluttering when Chris does thoughtful things for me or tasks necessary to keeping this family afloat. I should probably sit down and take the quiz again, so that I can be more clear when communicating my needs to Chris.
I’m working on two posts regarding marriage (fights, communication, roles, etc). It’s taking some time to get my thoughts down appropriately, and it might be awhile before I post them. So I won’t get into any of that subject matter today. For now, you should know that I married the most thoughtful & selfless man on the planet. I think ladies of all ages have become smitten with him on occasion. He’s just that great. He once told me that he wants to lead by example, to encourage men to step it up in their marriages and to teach his sons how to treat women. He’s doing a great job.
That being said, I’ll leave you with what I find to be the perfect illustration of man vs. woman when it comes to love languages.
[9pm last night; I collapse dramatically onto bed]
Me: I have a headache. I think I might go to bed now and just wait for the girls to wake me up. Would you mind rubbing my head for a minute?
[Chris joins me on the bed & begins playing on his iPhone]
Him: I’m sorry, love. Sure, I’ll rub your head.
[A few moments pass; Chris doesn’t move]
Me: Okay, I’m going to get a drink of water & maybe take some Tylenol.
[I noisily get out of bed and pout my way toward the door]
Him: Babe, let me rub your head!
Me: No, it’s fine. (Ladies, this phrase should be removed from our vocabulary)
[I return from downstairs and brush my teeth]
Me: My coffee is ruined. The whole pot is still sitting on the stove. There were chunks of milk floating in it. I asked you to pour it into the jar and put it in the fridge this morning, remember?
Him: Rach. I am so sorry.
[I crawl into bed and turn away from him, fully intending to pout my way to sleep. I hear him get ready for bed and turn out the lights. What? He’s supposed to go downstairs and play guitar. He’s not gonna try to…Oh, heck no. I can feel him getting closer. I said I have a headache!]
Me: What are you doing?
Him: I’m gonna give you a massage!
[How long is this gonna take? I don’t want a rubdown. It’s okay that he didn’t jump at the chance to rub my head. I’m over it. How do I politely refuse a massage? Who refuses a massage in exchange for more sleep? An exhausted mother, that’s who. But I can’t tell him this. He’s using his love language to love me, and I can’t let him down or correct him right now. He’s trying.]
Me: Oh. Thanks, love.
Him: Tell me what would make you feel best right now.
[Let me go to sleep? No, I can’t say that. He’s trying.]
Him: Want me to just let you go to sleep?
[I know he did NOT just read my mind.]
Me: No, babe. You’re sweet. It’s really just my head that hurts. Maybe you could just rub my head for a minute and then you can be off the hook?
Him: Got it.
[He rubs something into the back of my neck. Feels cool. Smells nice. Peppermint oil.]
Me: Wow, thanks! So thoughtful of you! Oh… arghh, ackkk.
Him: Shhh. Don’t open your eyes.
[He rubs the oil in between my eyes. And then…under my nose. This stuff is potent. Essential oil, that we usually put in diaper spray or wet washcloths. Not directly on the skin. Not near the eyes. Not under the nose. Oh, great. It’s on my lips. Burning. Oh, burning. Maybe if I bury my face in the sheets…nope, that’s worse. Holy crap, I cannot breathe. I can’t breathe!]
Me: Babe? I can’t breathe.
[I’m laughing and crying at the same time. I sit up, holding my hands over my eyes]
Me: I love you so much. But I can’t breathe! My face is burning. I can’t open my eyes!
Him: Oh, man. Oh, love. I am so sorry! That’s why I told you not to open your eyes!
[We’re both laughing now as he runs to get a wet washcloth, which only makes it worse.]
Me: I had a headache. I only wanted you to rub my head for a minute. And now I’m losing sleep. And I can’t see or breathe!
Him: I am so sorry. I am so sorry, love!
[Laughing continues as we pull the covers up and I drift off to sleep. He holds me for a minute, kisses me on the head, and goes back to his iPhone]