I told my husband I loved him. Oops.

It’s not something we go around casually saying to each other. At least, not since February. Sure, during one or two or three hundred of the serious talks we’re had, one or both of us might have let the L word slip. And, hell, even last night he said “that’s why I love her” to a random stranger at the bar. What this random stranger said to warrant such a response? I have no idea. He was probably commenting on the good sense God obviously graced me with to know when to replace the pitcher of beer.

But this morning? The big, fat “I love you” just slipped out and it was awkward and I spent the next six hours hearing myself say the words over… and over… and over again. At least I can be grateful it was only over the phone and not (shudder) in person.

Me, grinning like an idiot at the display on my cell phone: Hello?
Him: Hi. I’m just calling to make sure you’re awake.
Me: I’m just walking out to my car.
{insert brief miscellaneous chit chat here}
Him: I’d better get back to work.
Me: All right. Have a good day.
Him: You, too.
Me: I love you.
Him: (awkward pause) (which I may be exaggerating) I love you, too.

The we hung up. I got in my car and I sat there staring straight ahead as I heard those three little words replay like a broken record. My face got hot. I was like that girl, the one who always says “I love you” first. No one wants to be that girl. And even though I meant it, I do love him, and even though there are worse things I can do than tell my husband I love him, it just wasn’t the time.

It left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. The sad, pathetic fact is we still haven’t figured out (or even discussed) what the hell we’re doing. And, despite its continuous improvement, there is still a big possibility that this marriage won’t survive the surgery. Especially if we never make it into the OR.

You may have seen the tweets. It’s what I do when I’m feeling embarrassed. Might as well take it public! In the middle of tweeting the awkward start to my day, my cell phone started to buzz with a call from my mother.

Her: I don’t get it. Why can’t you say “I love you?” (Did I mention her cell phone alerts her with each new tweet?)
Me: (sigh) It just wasn’t the time. I didn’t mean to say it and I think it threw us both off.
Her: But you’re married.
Me: We’re separated. We were getting divorced. Still could. And we certainly haven’t been in the habit of saying “I love you” lately.
Her: And you don’t want to be the girl who let’s it out accidentally.
Me: Well… no.
Her: Frankly, I think you’re both acting like babies.

I hate to admit it, but she has a point. You’re all free to side with my mother. But just this once.

On a positive note, this whole situation has made me painfully aware that it is time for us to have The Talk. We need to make a decision once and for all. What the hell are we doing? Because even worse than being the girl who accidentally says “I love you” at the worst possible times? Being the wife of nearly seven years who isn’t sure when it’s appropriate to say “I love you” to her husband.