Stranger in my Bed

Last night, as Hubby and I were involved in some, ahem, amorous activity...(it is amazing what can happen when your husband comes home from work at one in the morning to find you sleeping naked)...I had my arms wrapped around him, quite involved in certain areas of thought, when something passed suddenly through my mind. “This is not my Jon.” My arms wrapped around his waist, crossing each other with ease. In the last 6 months, under the stress and demand of his job, and due in no small part to working 9+ hour shifts on his feet with no meals, Hubby has lost quite a bit of weight, delving into numbers he hasn’t seen since high school. But last night, I could feel even more of a difference than I have become used to. Since we married, my hubby has seen my body go from that of an 18 year old to that of a 30 year old, increasing and decreasing in size and shape, gaining and losing tone, and changing drastically through the birth of four children. And he has desired and loved me through these 12 years, never wavering or wishing I was any different. I have dreamed of being slender, of being someone who was readily thought of as pretty, with no second glance given to the girth of my hips, but for the most part that has not been as much for Hubby as for myself. Until last night. Last night, with realizing how slim he has become, my next thought, arriving unbidden in the midst of our dalliance, was “I don’t want to be his Morgan.” What I meant by that thought was not that I didn’t want to belong to him, but rather that I don’t want to be this Morgan, in this body, belonging to him. I want to be a woman who matches him physically (as much as is possible against his lofty height of 6’7” from down here at 5’6”.) I want to feel like I am as attractive and slender as he is. I want him to see and feel my body and think, “This is not my Morgan.”