Love is never what you expect it to be.  You read books and hear stories about people falling in love all the time.  You watch movies where love just happens in every other frame, making it look so commonplace and easy.  But love is not easy.  It’s hard work, and you’re guaranteed to earn a few scrapes along the way.

But you know what?  It’s worth it.  When you find that special someone, every bump, bruise, cut, and scrape is absolutely worth it.  I know this because I’m married to the most amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman on the planet.  Allison Pollock Gaynes.  Even after four years of marriage, her name is still music to my ears.

Life is good in the Gaynes household.  I’m a pretty busy guy, working full-time as an editor for “The Weekly Muse,” a small local paper; part-time as British literature professor at Belington Community College; and writing in whatever free time I can find.  Allison works part-time on the research team for the Communications Department at Harrison University.  We earn a decent living to support our relatively middle-class lifestyle, steering clear of anything that might turn us into yuppies.

And then there’s Madeline, our two-year-old daughter.  I know it’s a cliché to say it, but she’s our pride and joy.  She’s the perfect blend of my charm and Allison’s looks, like the reincarnation of a young Audrey Hepburn or Ingrid Bergman.  And she’s smart, which is always refreshing.  I’m sure it isn’t often for a father to be able to hold a conversation with his two-year-old daughter, even if that conversation is about bugs or Barney.

Like any two-year-old, Maddy’s a handful.  Okay, so saying she’s a “handful” is a bit of an understatement, but at least it gives you an idea what my career as a father is like.  Maddy’s at that age where she’s decided she only has one parent, the other adult a free-loader who sleeps in mommy’s bed at night.  Whenever she gets thirsty, mommy has to bring her some juice.  Whenever she’s hungry, mommy has to heat up some Chef Boyardee Spaghetti O’s.  It’s like I’m a stranger in my own house.

Maddy’s third birthday is coming up in a few weeks.  It’s terrifying when I sit back and let that thought stew.  Three years since I became a father.  Three years since I had to learn how to change a diaper.  Three years since I’ve had a decent night’s sleep.  Or a night of uninterrupted sleep, for that matter.  It’s really done wonders for my caffeine addiction.  I couldn’t begin to tell you how much tea I drink in a single day.

I walk into the living room to see Allison watching Saturday morning cartoons with Maddy.  Allison’s hair is disheveled as she sits on the couch in her nightgown.  Wisps of steam dance delicately around the lip of her coffee mug, reaching for the ceiling with all their might but always falling short.  Maddy’s in her pink Powerpuff Girl pajamas, hugging her blanket and staring without blinking at the television.  The reflection of her cartoons glisten in her eyes as Allison brushes her hair.  I stand in the doorway, smiling to myself as I wait for my opportunity to strike.  Finally, a commercial!

“Maddy, dear, what do you want for your birthday?” I coo, bracing myself for her brisk response.  Without looking she replies, “I want a pony.”  I knew that was coming.  Every little girl wants a pony for her birthday.  “I don’t think mommy and I can get you a pony yet, sweetheart.  Who would take care of it?  Mommy and I both have to work…unless you can take care of the pony.”  Maddy whips her head to face me, her little eyes glistening with frustration.  “I said I want a pony.”  I watch as Allison forces down a laugh, curious to see how this standoff will play out.

“But Maddy, dear, wouldn’t you like a nice shiny tricycle, or perhaps some new Barbie dolls?  I heard there’s a new warning label on ponies that say they’re for children ages four and up.  Mommy and I can get you a pony for your next birthday.”  I deliver the coup de gras—my most endearing, ice-melting, and charming smile.  I’m certain I’m doomed to lose this skirmish, but I can at least die with a little dignity.  “I said I want a pony!”  Maddy shouts at me.  “Mommy would buy me one,” she adds before crossing her arms, sticking out her bottom lip, turning her attention back to the television, and harrumphing with gusto.  On cue, her cartoons return from commercial break to sound my funeral march.  With a sigh I remember the good old days, when all Maddy wanted for Christmas was a fresh batch of cupcakes.  Somehow, I don’t think sweets will get me out of this.

If adulthood has taught me anything, it’s taught me how to die with dignity.  I retreat to the kitchen in order to lick my wounds and boil some water for tea.  I pull the teapot off the stove and remove the lid, walking to the sink to fill it with water.  I then sit it on the back right burner and turn it up to high.  I look over at the table to see a bowl full of cereal and the New York Times waiting for me at my usual seat.  It always makes me smile whenever she gets my breakfast ready, even though she’s been doing it since she got the research job two years ago.  She’s out of the house early on Saturday mornings.  It’s nice to have her home for once; she’s been overdue some vacation time.

It’s when I step over to the refrigerator that the phone starts to ring.  Allison calls from the living room, “Honey, could you get that?  I’m still fixing Maddy’s hair.”  “Sure thing, hon,” I call back as I pick up the receiver.  “Good morning.  Gaynes residence.  How may I direct your call?”  A disturbingly perky voice shoots back, “Good morning, Professor Gaynes.  This is Melinda Cobblestone from the Comm. Research Department at Harrison University.  Is your wife there?”  I pull the receiver away from my ear and stare at it like I’ve never seen it before.  Why would the university be calling here at 7:30 on a Saturday morning?  I put the receiver back to my ear and answer, “Um, yeah, hold on.  Lemme get her.”

I rest the receiver on the counter and call to Allison, “Honey, the phone’s for you.  It’s the university.”  She tells Maddy she’ll be right back and steps into the kitchen, picking up the phone receiver.  “Hello, this is Allison Gaynes.  Can I help you?”  Suddenly, my teapot begins to whistle, so I return to making my tea and getting the milk from the fridge.  For several minutes, Allison sporadically utters the occasional “uh-huh” while I eat my cereal.  Suddenly, her face lights up like a Fourth of July skyline, and she blurts out, “Yes!  Of course I’ll take it!  Thank you!” and hangs up the receiver.  Before I can even formulate a coherent thought, Allison practically levitates next to me and clutches my arm.

“I got it!” she squeals, radiating excitement.  A little shocked, I stutter, “Wha—got what?”  “Remember that full-time position I wanted when I got out of Grad School?  Well, they want me for it.  They want me for it, and I took it!  Isn’t this exciting?!”  Of course it was exciting, but I could think of only one problem:  who would take care of Maddy?  When Allison and I got married, we agreed we would never have a babysitter raise our child.  “But honey, what about Maddy?”  Allison’s smile fades.  “What about Maddy?”  “Well, who’s going to look after her during the week?  I teach in the morning, and you leave for the university shortly after I get back.  If you start working full-time, we’re going to have to hire a babysitter.”

“Well, what if you take off from the newspaper?  You’ve already said you think Tom could take your place.  And you could take on a few extra classes at the community college, perhaps teaching at night.  We can make this work, Simon.”  Now she was that look in her eyes, that I-need-to-do-this look she gets when she’s really determined.  I stand up and put the milk back in the refrigerator, and then I reach my hand out to Allison.  “Hand me the phone,” I say with a grin.  “I have a few phone calls to make.”