I belong to a million “mom” groups online. I’m obsessed with reading the latest trend in parenting or what baby should or shouldn’t  be doing at 10 months old, then I worry if I’m doing it right.

I saw a post from a fed-up mom the other day who was so exhausted and livid with her husband. She talked about how he slept in that morning while she was up with the kids and then he preceded to take his own 3 hour nap after she got their children down for theirs. She felt under-appreciated and hurt, so in return she was contemplating ways to kill him – or at least let her imagination drift as found herself elbows deep in dishes.

It’s a pretty normal scene in a normal household. A normal I envy. As I read on I  wanted to walk right through my computer and into their front door and shake them until they realized their luck.

First, I wanted to wake up Mr. Rude Husband and tell him to go help his wife. I wanted to pull his able body onto his feed and say to spend those child-free hours and be the partner he physically can be.

Then, I wanted to smack some sense into Mrs. Mad Mom. I’d tell her to forget the chores and go climb in bed for an afternoon nap with your husband. Stick you nose in his neck and breath in every smell. Try and remember why you even fell in love in the first place. Don’t waste a single moment. Your kids are healthy, your husband is healthy. You have EVERYTHING.

I asked Joe the other day if he ever wonders what our life would be like if he didn’t have cancer. We’d both go to work everyday, we decided. There’s also the chance we wouldn’t have our daughter yet. We might not have felt the urgency to start a family if we didn’t know there was the chance the cancer could return.

We’d probably wish we had more money or a bigger house.  I’d probably be complaining about how I’m the only one who can get the baby to bed or the amount of sports on our television. (Okay, you got me. I still complain about this and guess what, it does nothing. I mean how many hours of sports can one really watch?!)

Today, We were waiting at the hospital for a scan and Joe looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t want you to cry when I say this.”

“Okay”.

“I want you to promise me you’ll re-marry. I want you to know whatever you do,  I’m behind you. I’m team Amanda.”

If Joe didn’t have cancer, we’d never have those conversations.

Today, I wished I was complaining about doing dishes.