The Most Romantic Thing My Spouse Has Ever Done

I’ll never live up to the example he’s set, but I know I can do better.

By

Kimberly Witt

 
Published February 21, 2025
illustration of wedding cake topper couple, woman admiring her husband
Tara Jacoby

Nothing says “relationship goals” like a romantic dinner of chicken broth and orange popsicles. But that’s what I picture when I think of love.

I was quick to sign up for my first colonoscopy when I turned 45. I’ve never missed a yearly physical or mammogram, and this was next on my preventative medicine to-do list. That didn’t mean I looked forward to the process. My older siblings and other friends in their 50s shared their horror stories — the vomit-inducing quantities of Gatorade, the hunger pains, the intimate relationship with the toilet.

My husband, who’s older by six months, completed the intrusive event a month earlier. Ever the optimist, he kept reassuring me, “The prep isn’t bad at all!” Of course, this is the same guy who gets giddy when he has to clear snow from the driveway, so I wasn’t sure I could trust him.

Finally, the big day arrived. I stocked the fridge with orange Jell-O and bottles of Propel and prepared myself for the worst, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger pains. A Lifesaver was a sad substitute for the juicy burger I was craving.

And then I noticed something.

It started at breakfast. Normally, my husband would slather peanut butter on an English muffin, but on this day, he just made an extra cup of coffee.

“Go ahead and eat something,” I told him. “I won’t watch.”

“No, I figured I could fast today, too, so you don’t have to do it alone,” he said as he headed downstairs to work.

I was aghast.

When he prepped for his procedure a few weeks prior, I didn’t exactly fill the house with the aroma of freshly baked bread, but I didn’t avoid eating either. I wasn’t rude enough to eat my leftovers next to him on the sofa. I sat at the table behind him in the dining room.

But here was Chris, my partner and best friend of over 20 years, intentionally trading his bacon and pasta for broth and popsicles. That afternoon, when I started to feel disgruntled, daydreaming about the perfect crunch of an onion ring, Chris gave me an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.

It was easier to power through because I wasn’t alone.

Eventually, it was time to start the real system cleansing. The rest of the night was a blur of liquids and trips to the toilet. Chris drew the line at joining me in the laxative portion of the festivities. He also later confessed to sneaking a bowl of cereal after midnight. After all, no one’s perfect.

His small, unglamorous gestures, however, have convinced me that he is, without a doubt, a way better human than I am. (He’s also aging better, which feels doubly unfair.)

There was the time I got food poisoning from a suspicious watermelon. We were on a walk several blocks from home when it hit me. He sprinted home for the car because my stomach pains prevented me from walking. Later, as I crouched in the bathroom, praying for a quick death, he whispered, “Do you need anything?” at the door and helped me put my hair in a ponytail.

When he’s sick, I text from two floors away. I might offer to run to the pharmacy if I’m not already in my pajamas.

It’s not just the one-off events where he valiantly shows off his selflessness. He’s always been the parent to wait for the kids late at night because I require at least 8 to 10 hours of sleep. He’s the one behind the wheel on long car rides, the one cheerfully clearing the driveway in sub-zero weather and the one bringing me the perfect cup of chamomile tea each night. (When he’s out of town, I realize I barely know how to turn on the kettle.)

My half-hearted attempts at romance — an occasional coffee in bed or a cheesy social media post for his birthday each year — pale in comparison to the simple ways he consistently shows up in our relationship.

I don’t remember the exact vows we shared over 20 years ago, but they probably contained some version of “for better or for worse.” Chris is the “for better,” and I’m the “for worse.”

His small, sacrificial acts of love inspire me to try harder because he’s taught me that the strongest bonds are built in life’s unglamorous moments. I’ll never live up to the example he’s set, but I know I can do better.

Next time Chris is scheduled for a colonoscopy, I might voluntarily skip a meal so we can dream of burgers and onion rings together, keeping that romance alive. If love is measured in popsicles and chicken broth, I think we’re doing just fine.

 

Would you ever do this for your own partner? Let us know in the comments below.

Kimberly Witt is an Iowa transplant placing roots in St. Paul, Minnesota. Together with her husband of more than 20 years, she is raising two amazing young adult sons born in Ethiopia. An adjunct English professor and freelancewriter, she spends her free time exploring her city and delighting in everyday life. She writes about the messiness of parenting, faith, and middle-agedness.