While I was recovering after giving birth to our son, my husband helped me with everything—even getting on and off the toilet. One night, I managed to go on my own but couldn’t make it back to bed. Without hesitation, he lifted me gently, pulled up my adult diaper, and carried me back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I was embarrassed, exhausted, and fragile. But when he tucked me in, he brushed my hair aside and said softly, “This is one of the reasons I love you even more.”
I didn’t understand at first.
“You brought our child into this world,” he continued. “Taking care of you now is the easiest thank-you I can give.”
There was no pity in his voice—only admiration. In those early postpartum days, when my body and emotions felt broken, he never treated my weakness as a burden. He changed diapers—ours and the baby’s—warmed meals, held my hand through unexplained tears, and reminded me daily that healing wasn’t something I had to do alone.
That season changed our marriage quietly but deeply. Love showed up in silence at 3 a.m., in bottle feedings, in shared exhaustion and gentle care.
Now, when I see him holding our son with tired eyes and a soft smile, I don’t remember embarrassment. I remember that night as the moment I learned what unconditional love really looks like.
It isn’t glamorous—but it’s always present. And sometimes, being carried back to bed is more romantic than any bouquet of roses.
