(Warning-- this might be a little, well, a lot gross to some of you.)

Real love is from a man who makes his wife breakfast and lunch because he wants her and their child to eat well and grow big and strong. My real love is a man who brings his wife a blanket covered in dorky dinosaurs when she beings to feel really ill. My real man is a man who comforts his wife as she is violently ill, and cannot even make it to the bathroom, only into the kitchen sink. A real man tells his wife to go lay down and that he will clean up the mess that she has made and gets her a cup of water and kisses her hair, even when it smells like vomit. Real love is a man who will head out to the store to buy Cherry 7 Up because that is what his wife has had since childhood when she has the stomach flu, and Sociables crackers because that is the only thing that sounds like it will help her stomach. Real love is a man who can still say "I love you" when his wife doesn't look or behave like she did before they conceived a child. Real love is a man who doesn't mind spending the last days of his vacation caring for his sick, pregnant wife instead of out enjoying his last few days of freedom. A real man steps up to the plate for his responsibilities as a man and a father, even before his child makes its way out into the world.

A real man just offered to bring me a bite to eat and some more Cherry 7 Up while I sat here writing this.