After giving birth, I was too weak to get back to bed alone. My husband lifted me off the toilet, pulled up my adult diaper, and carried me to bed. Tucking me in, he said this moment made him love me more.
Exhausted and fragile, I felt embarrassed—but he looked at me with awe. “You brought our child into the world,” he whispered. “Caring for you is the easiest thank-you.”
He changed diapers (mine and the baby’s), warmed meals, held me through tears, and reminded me healing wasn’t solitary. His quiet service turned vulnerability into strength.
Our marriage deepened in the small hours—feeding, swaddling, sharing silence. True intimacy grew not in grand gestures, but in humble acts of care.
Now, when I see him holding our son with tired eyes and a gentle smile, I remember that night—not with shame, but gratitude. Being carried back to bed was more romantic than roses. Love isn’t always pretty, but in those moments, it’s perfectly present.
