In early January of 2005 Mike and I -- along with his sister and her husband -- took a trip to Colorado. The plan, or so I thought, was to ski and snowboard half the time and relax in front of a crackling fire the other half. But Mike (and by no strange coincidence, his family) is a goer. He doesn't stop to enjoy a movie or relax, curled up with a magazine while on vacation. OH NO. He goes. He doesn't feel as if a vacation is really successful unless he's crying out of sheer exhaustion on the plane ride home.
When we first got to Colorado, I assumed we'd grab lunch, unpack, maybe take a quick lap around the hotel, but it wasn't fifteen minutes after we dropped our bags in our room that my feet were jammed into ski boots and I was on a lift. I had never snowboarded before so I was understandably nervous. First, I was nervous about getting off the ski lift as there are signs just everywhere that state, "KEEP MOVING! DON'T STOP! DON'T FALL! YOU'LL PISS OFF EVERY SKIER/SNOWBOARDER ON THIS HERE MOUNTAIN IF YOU FALL!" And, well, I fell. Of course I fell. You should not be shocked that I fell. But you should ooze sympathy that falling off the ski lift was actually one of the better parts of that whole miserable day.
On the top of the run, I couldn't figure out how to move -- how to even inch along -- without falling, usually very quick and very hard. It was painful and frustrating and for the next four (possibly five) hours I formed a horrible pattern of standing up, brushing off some freezing ice, attempting to plunge myself down the mountain and then falling -- ass or knees first -- so hard I sometimes couldn't speak for minutes afterwards due to the ringing and the throbbing and the WANTING TO DIE.
Mike picked up snowboarding far too quickly, if you ask me. He was doing jumps and slicing down 90-degree inclines and he even flipped once or twice just to, you know, SEE IF HE COULD. (And he could, of course he could.) He took to it so naturally and effortlessly, it worked me up even more. Couldn't you fall with me? Why am I the only one in hell right now?
But, and you possibly saw this coming, there was only one way down the mountain. The steep, terrifying mountain. And that was, well, down it. I had to figure out how to make this contraption strapped to my feet work with me. And I just couldn't figure it out. I was in tears because I was just so exhausted. There is little in this world that has ever made me more tired than trying to get down a snowy mountain on a big skateboard without wheels. I sat down and told Mike to go ahead without me. I COULD NOT GO ON. And as I sat there, mulling over my choices of setting up camp right where I was or setting up camp a foot to my right, another woman fell and slid the front of her board straight into my thigh AND IT FUCKING HURT. And with that, I sort of lost my mind. I kind of (ashamedly) began screeching and sobbing and possibly hysterically yelling. I was freezing and in so much pain, and I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't get down that mountain by myself.
And you know what the giant salt shaker pouring salt into my deep wounds was? Children and the elderly were flying right by me. It's possible they were even whooing.
Mike looked at me, pulled me up and said, "We'll do this together." And he got me down the mountain, even if we slid the last few hundred yards sitting on our snowboards. (We were rightly reprimanded if you're sort of in shock we did that. But, trust me, AT THE TIME IT SEEMED LIKE THE VERY BEST PLAN I HAD EVER HEARD.)
Through it all, Mike was calm and unaffected by the crazy I unleashed on him. I, on the other hand, was incredibly embarrassed by the whole mess.
It was not one of my finer moments (days) and it just so happened that particular day was our first anniversary. We celebrated one solid year of being together by me clenching my teeth, turning to him and saying, "This is the worst day of my life. And I have seen George Bush get elected TWICE."
Although there was not a single moment from that day when I acted like a reasonable human being, Mike did nothing but keep his shit together. I was already in love with him at this point, but that day, OH MY GOODNESS, did I ever love that man as much as a human being could possibly love another. I loved him for not abandoning me, even though I begged him to just leave me there. "GO ON," I yelled. "JUST GO." I loved him for ruining his first day on the slopes by putting up with me and dealing with me and doing it all with a ridiculously good attitude. He knew I was in trouble. And he knew the only way to get me out of trouble was to stay calm. Lord, did I love him for that.
When I think about loving him, I always think of that day first. The day I broke apart and he pieced me back together, lovingly and without complaint.
It was on that day -- of this I'm certain -- when I first realized I wanted to have his child.
And if all keeps going well that child will be here on February 19.
We're pregnant.
(January 2005; Winter Park, Colorado)