Mon Couer II

The Shape of Things to Come
Jack Vettriano

Next we move on to Jack Vettriano's The Shape of Things to Come. I love this painting - I love Vettriano's style - very raw, gangster meets glam. Seriously - check out Amateur Philosophers, The Billy Boys, Dance Me to the End of Love, The Road to Nowhere, or The Singing Butler. Just don't do too much perusing of his site - he's fairly risque - even blatant. Believe me.

Anyway - I love this one because of the chivalry. Her hair's set, and for some reason they've found themselves barefoot on a rainy seascape with the boys looking on. Still the man drops what he's doing and goes to her aid.

Know how this reminds me of Jon? He does thoughtful things like this for me quite often. I'll share two stories with you.

First - after Griff was born I had post-partum depression. Didn't take much to persuade me to stay inside and dread everything. Jon came home from bishopric one night and handed me a pink cookie. You know the kind - the fluffy sugar cookies with about an inch of pink, preservative-laden, lard-filled frosting. Simple act really - he probably stopped to get a soda and grabbed something that was on the counter. but you know what? He knew that my miserable self needed some sugary goodness. He knew I needed him to pull me out of mire - for a few minutes.

Second - I've had 3 boys with the man. I've had fairly easy labor & deliveries (7 hours for Carson, 5 hours for Evan, and a mere 3 hours for G), and I'm a firm believer in drugs making things much better and relatively pain free.

I didn't really know what to expect with my first. I had no idea what it was like so I was wondering how bad it could really be wanted to feel a bit before it got really hot & heavy. I quickly had enough of that and my rescuer/pain reliever stopped by my room at just the right time. He was on his way to a C section and wanted to see if I needed him to start the epidural before he wouldn't be able to do it for a couple of hours. No question on my part. NOW!

 I was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to wrap my arms under my knees to curve my back (which isn't an easy task with a basketball in between your ribs and pelvis). The anesthesiologist was prepping my back and the needle, etc. A contraction hit, and it absolutely took my breath away. I panicked! Jon jumped up from the rocking chair in the corner, knelt in front of me, touched both of my knees, looked me right in the eye, smiled, and gently but firmly said,

You have to breathe.

The epidural must have kicked in about then because I remember squeezing his hands and feeling an amazing calm come over me. From then on he was right there with me, pointing out when my contractions were starting on the monitor, getting me ice, not touching me because he'd already figured out (or perhaps not so nicely been told) that it drove me crazy to be touched/rubbed through a contraction. Then when I thought we'd both had enough, his son was placed on my stomach, and I watched him smile as his hand ran over the top of Carson's head for the very first time.

I gave that gift to him... And I loved him for the way he received it.