WHAT'S YOUR SECRET
And Who Knows It?
The pitter-patter of the plastic feet on their zip-up jammies in the middle of the night was unmistakable. And the sound of approaching little feet would usually wake me up before one of the kids climbed into bed with us. Fighting my first inclination, which was to snuggle up with them, I followed the experts’ advice that said kids must learn how to self-sooth … I escorted them back to their own beds. I did it, but secretly, I didn’t want to.
The kids don’t climb into bed with us anymore. As full-grown adults, both are at the age to have their own children by now—and both have vowed not to have children. I let you in on this inside information as a means of self-therapy. I want to believe there is still hope for me to be a grandparent. And as full-grown adults, if they were to climb into bed with us, that would just be weird.
Although the kids don’t climb into bed with us anymore, the dog certainly does. Most people are not shocked by this. Maybe it’s more common than it used to be, or maybe I’m surrounded by people who have, as we have, replaced their children with pets. I’m not sure when it happened.
My husband likes to tell the story of when we first met, and I insisted that dogs belong outside. Little by little over the years, that stance changed. First, I allowed the dogs into the Florida room. For those of you who aren’t from Florida, a Florida room is like a screened porch with windows. You can’t enjoy a screened porch for nine months out of the year in Florida because it is ridiculously hot! So, some ingenious builder thought to add windows and AC, call it a Florida room … and voila … everyone has one. Next, the dogs were welcomed into the kitchen, and in no time they were sitting next to us on the sofa.
The progression from the sofa to the bed happened all too quickly. And it stuck because the dogs figured out immediately that if they wiggled and fussed, they would get kicked out. My husband doesn’t know it, but I’m thinking about enforcing this policy with him. He snores, wakes up to use the bathroom at least three times each night and, for some crazy reason, if I move even the slightest bit, he thinks I’m awake and starts a conversation.
They say you’re not supposed to keep secrets from your spouse. Generally, I agree with this. I don’t have a secret bank account or friends he doesn’t know about, but I have learned not to tell him everything. He loves to tell funny stories, especially at cocktail parties. His desire to be funny has, on occasion, led to his oversharing of MY secrets! He once announced to a group of our friends that I get constipated if I eat too much cheese! I was so embarrassed. Nobody needs to know that.
So, I don’t tell him why I don’t eat raw broccoli or about the can of foot spray I keep in the closet. He doesn’t need to know exactly how much money I spend on Spanx or what a FasciaBlaster is used for. The last thing I want is for those details to emerge at the next cocktail party. Some things are just better kept to myself.
So, what’s your secret?
