My Fiancé Didn’t Give Me Butterflies

Yes. You read that right. The man I currently agreed to do all of eternity with didn’t give me butterflies… Well, until he did.

Dating is hard. Dating with kids is even harder. (I wrote a very precious and dear post about those trials once). Navigating the seas of relationships after becoming a mommy was laced with failure after failure. There was the year with a man who, although just having turned 30, lived a life that mirrored Peter Pan and the Lost Boys more than an adult. There was the follow up to him, a divorced emotionally unavailable and perpetually verbally abusive distance relationship that, had it continued, I swear to you all I may actually have died from the stress of it.

But wow. They gave me some butterflies. Those two. Butterflies in the stomach like going over a drop in a roller coaster.

I met my now fiancé over 5 years ago. (He actually introduced me to my ex-husband but that is a wholeeeeeeee other blog post.) There was some mutual attraction there, or maybe just curiosity, but we always steered our boat right down the straight and narrow waters of the friend zone. A few years went by, a few texts to meet up and grab a drink that never came to fruition, we eventually lost touch, and then one day a Facebook friend request popped up and we reconnected.

Our first date was a quick lunch to make up for the fact that I had essentially been blowing him off all week to go to a Christmas party. That night, while my son slept and I wrapped presents, Nathan messaged me and asked if we (and our kids) could get together the following day. I accepted and we all went ice skating. This man was sweet, kind, attentive, and so funny I thought my face would never stop hurting from laughing. I could tell he was interested in me, but still. No butterflies.

Weeks went by, and a casual Facebook status about an emerald ring I saw online, yielded a giant green right hand ring that brought me to tears in my living room. But still, no butterflies.

When my best friend of over 20 years had her baby, I went to visit her about two hours away. She wanted to know all about Nathan. “There’s not really much to tell,” I answered her. “He’s so funny. And so nice. He’d do anything in the world for me. But it’s just not all fireworks and butterflies, you know?” She looked at me. And looked around to make sure her husband wasn’t in ear shot then said “He doesn’t give me butterflies. I mean, he did. He does sometimes. But it’s not like that. We are in a partnership. We are in love. Sometimes it’s not about the butterflies. Nathan seems great and stable and you seem happy. That’s how grown up relationships work.”

Well.

Hindsight is always 20/20 I suppose, and I grimace in typing this now, but shortly after that conversation in my best friend’s nursery, my butterfly inducing, long distance ex and I decided maybe we should open an already closed door.  Nathan gave me space during that judgement lapse, and when a very, very unfortunate situation occurred as a result (which I won’t go into full detail about here to respect everyone’s privacy involved) he was patient, kind, and supportive. He stood by me in probably my darkest moment to date; never leaving my side when nearly everyone else put in his position would have walked away. I cherished and respected him more than I could ever put into words for his gift of true unconditional love. But, there were no butterflies even then.

More and more time went by. Nathan and I got closer. We went on fun adventures together, did mundane house chores together, told each other our deepest secrets and fears. We nailed the nightly routine of kitchen clean up, bath time, teeth brushing, and bed time stories. We looked at houses. We talked about babies of our own and of the future together. My kids began to like him possibly more than they like me. We weathered storms of personal struggle, professional struggle, and family struggle as a team. We learned each others’ weird quirks. But still, no butterflies.

Then one night, as I sat on the closed toilet lid telling my kids for the 75th time that I actually was going to wash their hair in the bathtub, (gasp, the horror) I looked up at him. He was exhausted, wearing his work uniform, looking at his beard in the mirror trying to decide if he was going to trim it or not. And I smiled. And he didn’t see me looking at him; really soaking him in, all 6+ feet of him like a little girl in awe of someone so tall and commanding. And in that moment, the bottom dropped out of the room. It had been months of doing life, of picking our battles, of just being ordinary, but I felt the most extraordinary butterflies I have ever felt in my life.

Butterflies early on in my past relationships signaled grand gestures and pretty words. But when the actions failed to be there backing up the late night confessions or the whispers in my ear, I spent the remainder of those relationships chasing that high. I needed the movie romance. I needed to feel the butterflies. I needed the up and the down and the chaos. Until I didn’t. Until at 28 I re- met someone 12 years my senior who wasn’t going to play games with me. Who liked me and loved me and wanted all of me and all of my boys and who meant what he said and who needed no decoding. I felt butterflies with Nathan because we made a real, honest to goodness life together. I’m reminded of the quote from The Fault in Our Stars: “I fell in love like you fall asleep; slowly and then all at once.”

I’m about to get gross and sappy over here. And I know.  And I’m sorry. I get that I am the go to for witty one liners and sarcastic droll. Just bear with me here and next time we meet I’ll be blogging on the best ways to not end up on the 6 o’clock news when traveling with kids or something.  I swear.  I will not desert you, dear readers. So… Hopefully you’re reading this on an empty stomach, because…

My fiancé gives me butterflies. He is seriously so cool y’all! He is a man’s man who can tell what kind of a motorcycle or car drove past just by hearing it. He has tattoos. He was a semi-professional kayaker with legit sponsorships and titles and fans (he can flip a boat over a waterfall; WHAT?!?) in the 90s. He can fix literally anything. He was a firefighter and went to fire science college. (Which I still argue about being a real place, but I digress.) He opens doors and stands on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. We talk ALL THE TIME during the day.  Like, we are kind of obsessed with each other and text or call constantly no matter how busy he is.

He is patient with my boys, my dogs, my grandmother with Alzheimer’s who asks him the same question 15 times at Sunday lunch. His eyes are SO. DANG. BLUE. (I just cannot with the eyes.) He spoils me more than I ever deserve. Like, the man looked at my Pinterest boards and bought me over the knee riding boots last week, all on his own accord, at a boutique, while on vacation because I had pinned different variations of them 500 times. (This is the same week he bought me a giant diamond engagement ring <shameless bling brag; sorry not sorry>). He makes me laugh 90% of the day. He snores and has questionable taste in music (Kurt Cobain was actually alive during his adulthood so I guess I can give him that one), but even those things are annoying somewhat endearing. He loves me fiercely even though I am not easy to love. I see myself as slightly neurotic, overly emotional, bossy, controlling, and wrinkling prematurely. He thinks I am beautiful and perfect and rushes to get home to me every single day.

I didn’t get it right in my first marriage. I didn’t get it right in my relationships post divorce. I got it so right this time in such an unlikely way. In such a real, grown up, I want to be 70 and still hold your hand kind of way. My fiancé gives me all the butterflies. And I cannot wait to have them for the rest of my life.