Did I Marry Mr. Wrong?

I came to an unsettling realization recently: I married the wrong man.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my husband. A lot. He is my best friend, my soul mate, an amazing dad, the whole package. But there’s just no denying that marrying him was a huge mistake. Another man would have been a better choice.

I should have married a pediatrician.

One of my all-time favorite pediatricians.

Think of all the worry I could have avoided! All the questions I could have had answered with no copay or waiting! Like, does my one-year-old wake up 5 times a night, every freakin’ night, because something is wrong with him OR because he’s a pain in the butt? And, is my preschooler hearing impaired or do all kids his age talk so loudly they scare the cats? If I had just married a pediatrician, the whole why-is-my-newborn’s-poop-dark-brown-instead-of-yellow-like-the-books-say-it-should-be fiasco would have just been a sentence in our parenting story, rather than a whole chapter. If I had married a pediatrician, the latest period of our lives—The Ear Infection Epoch—would have involved a lot less time watching Toy Story 2 in 20-minute increments in the doctor’s waiting room. (I think I have now technically seen the whole movie, in jumbled up bits and pieces.)

BUT…on the other hand, we are lucky to have access to good pediatricians. We have health insurance for ourselves and our kids, so seeing a doctor doesn’t necessarily break the bank. I am fortunate enough to be a stay at home mom for now, so we don’t have to rearrange work schedules to get the kids seen.

Hmmmmm….

Never mind. Forget marrying a pediatrician. I should have married a veterinarian.

Chris O'Donnell--hot vet on Grey's Anatomy

Again, think of all the worry I could have avoided! All the questions I could have had answered without paying outrageous fees or having to shove snarling balls of furry fury into the cat carriers! Like, should I worry when my cat sits in the corner staring at the blank wall like there’s something there? And, really truly what is a normal number of times for a cat to barf in a week? If I had just married a veterinarian, maybe he’d have some idea about how to deal with the girl cat—a gorgeous, long-haired calico who is also a raging b*tch who won’t let anyone but me and, inexplicably, just one of my two sisters, get near her. (Since that sister lives about 2,000 miles away, she can’t be relied upon to help with fun things like applying flea medicine and cleaning the cat’s, um, “bikini area,” which the cat is too fat to groom properly. How great is that?)

But wait. My cat hates everyone. She stares daggers at my kids and hisses at my actual husband whenever he dares to get within 10 feet of her. Who’s to say she’d be friendlier to my fantasy veterinarian-husband? He’d still probably have to use general anesthesia to so much as listen to her heart, like my actual veterinarian has to do. While I’m sure we’d get a family discount on the drugs, there’s only so much of that stuff he could give away for free. And I’d still be risking life and limb (OK, mostly just fingers) every time I had to get Her Highness into the carrier.

(Are you thinking right now, “Um, Molly? It’s the 21^st century. Why are you bemoaning the fact that you didn’t marry into all this expertise when you could just as well have become a pediatrician or veterinarian yourself?” Well, you just may have a point there…)

Hmmmmm….

Good news, everyone! It turns out I married the right man! He is funny, tall, smart, kind, and just about all-around wonderful, despite his woeful lack of medical expertise—either human or veterinarian. (Did I say handsome? I meant to say handsome. WOW, is he handsome. I should have said that first. Babe, if you’re reading this—whoo hoo! Are you a handsome devil!) I am a very lucky woman. After all, who else is married to a man who explains to our kids why our toilet clogs by making up a game called “Big Poop, Little Poop?” Who else is married to a man who—thanks to his Xbox and a fervent love of sci fi—could keep us all safe during a zombie apocalypse? Who else is married to a man who has managed to ensure that our sons’ favorite songs are by Creedence Clearwater Revival, rather than Raffi? Turns out I am very lucky, indeed.

Oh yeah. Since I’ve decided to keep him, I guess that means I need to come up with a gift for our fifth wedding anniversary later this month. Anyone have any fabulous ideas to show the man of my life how much I appreciate him?