I got one of the good ones. I honestly did not even know how lucky I was on the day that I married him. I think as time passes and the years and experiences stack on top of each other, that feeling of “How did I get so lucky?” grows exponentially. Here is the thing: women love to bash their husbands. I have no idea what they are thinking when they are doing it but it makes my soul ache. I spend a little bit of time on the community boards via the various pregnancy apps on my iPhone (the Bump and Baby Center), and it hurts my heart every time I see a hormonal pregnant woman posting about how her “DH” pissed her off in someway. I have a rule. It is simple. Do not talk badly about your husband to anyone. Bryant and I make fun of each other often and we give each other a hard time. I think that people know that about us, so we definitely joke to friends and rag on each other, but when it comes to the real issues, the real heart of our relationship, we protect each other. I never say anything badly about him even to my Mom if I am angry with him (which I should note, does not happen very often). When women do this, speak ill of their spouses, it actually reflects more badly on them than their husband. It is true. Instead of me hearing what they are saying and thinking “Wow. I am so sorry you have it so bad” I think, “Wow. Your poor husband.” We all make choices and obviously made a choice the day we got married. Marriages fail, but I think the women who stand out the most are the ones who even in that failure keep their mouths shut.

I am almost 27 weeks pregnant, and my husband has been beyond supportive in the last 7 months of suffering. When I was 7 weeks pregnant, I woke up with some substantial amount of bleeding. I called Bryant crying and he rushed home from work to take me to the hospital. I was told by several nurses and doctors that I had “probably” miscarried, and we spent the day holding each other in the waiting room until I was finally given an ultrasound. I cried behind my sunglasses and Bryant held my hand tightly assuring me that everything was going to be ok. They took me back and I laid on the table sobbing, alone. They wouldn’t let Bryant come back with me until they had a clear picture. After almost 40 minutes, Bryant was ushered back into the room and the ultrasound tech turned the screen and showed us little Kinsey. She said, “See that flutter, that is the heartbeat.” Our first ultrasound was not what I had imagined. I imagined it to be a happy and confirming moment, not one that was clouded with fear. We left the hospital with a stupid piece of paper explaining what a threatened miscarriage was, and I spent the following weeks in my pajamas watching Grey’s Anatomy waiting for something bad to happen. Bryant text me multiple times every single day asking me how I was doing. He held me every night before we went to bed and he listened to me talk about my body numbing fear that kept me from sleeping. He never told me that he was scared too, even though I knew that he was–he was my anchor, my comfort, and my strength. I would wake up with tears in my eyes and everyday he told me that it was going to be ok. My point here is that no one ever talks about these moments. The moments when their husbands shine.

I got one of the good ones and every single day I feel lucky that he chose me. I choose to honor and respect him even on anonymous pregnancy forums.