I can’t say I didn’t help him.  I can’t say I didn’t ask, in advance, for blueberry waffles.  I actually set out the ingredients and filled the coffee pot the night before.  What can I say, I’m a control freak.  And my husband, as amazing as he is, doesn’t know his way around a kitchen very well.  Except when it comes to perfect white rice and Totino’s Pizza Rolls.

What I didn’t ask for was the mess.

Before you think I’m an unappreciative, demanding wife let me clarify.

Despite the rigid breakfast request I made, half jokingly, I would have been happy with a bowl of Kix and a glass of iced tea.

He knew that.

I didn’t ask for batter oozing all over the counter, or a blueberry-stained baby waddling around the living room.  I didn’t ask for burnt bacon or twice as many dishes as it typically takes to make waffles.

But my wonderful husband obliged.

He knew that even though a Nutri-Grain bar served on a plate with a fork and knife would have made me happy he slaved in the kitchen for an hour.  All the while chasing a 17-month-old waving a blueberry waffle.  As I slumbered peacefully upstairs on my brand new memory-foam mattress pad.

He made bacon on the stove and in the microwave, trying to get it perfect for me.

He trimmed the edges off the heart-shaped waffles so they would look just right.

And he did it because he loves and cherishes me as his wife and the mother of his babies.

It was the most beautiful mess I’d ever seen and the most delicious breakfast I’d ever tasted.