Passionate About the Community
and the Moms Who Live Here

An Open Letter to My Husband: I Love You

Dear Husband,

Twelve years ago, you wooed me with an Oreo cookie. The rest is history.

The years have passed, one after the next, but the day we met still feels like yesterday. I imagine I’ll feel that way even when we’re old and drinking Ensure nutrition shakes in side-by-side rocking chairs.

So many things have changed. How did we get here? In many ways, it seems as if I blinked and we have become completely different people.

And now here we are, and I know it’s not the same.

But I love you more and more each day, and I hope you know that.

Gone are the days of driving around, windows down, the music up too high. Now we listen to the Trolls and Sing soundtracks on repeat until our ears bleed.

Gone are the days of Saturday sloth, watching movies in bed and taking impromptu ice cream runs at midnight. Now we run around from activity to activity until we have ice cream on the couch at 9 p.m. and promptly pass out.

Gone are the days of wondering when you’ll propose or if I’ll have to join You did, and I didn’t (thankfully, because I would have been terrible at that).

Gone are the days of wondering what our children will look like. They’re beautiful, even though they both look exactly like you.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Twelve years ago, I met the silliest and most handsome boy – that’s what you were, after all – a boy. And I was a girl, even though I thought I was a woman.

You always say you knew I was “the one,” even right from the beginning. I always knew too.

I knew because of the way you looked at me.

I knew because of how much time we spent with your family.

I knew because of how wonderful you were with your godson.

I knew because you moved to New York City to be with me.

I knew because I thought your 1987 Buick Century with the broken seat belt was charming.

I knew because you loved me even when everyone else thought I was a loser.

I knew because you always thought I was beautiful even when I wasn’t.

I knew because even though you drive me insane, I can’t imagine anyone else driving me to insanity.

On the inside, I don’t feel any different.

I still feel like that girl. I know you still feel like that boy. But our wrinkles and grey hairs tell another story. The world keeps turning, the days pass, and our life goes on.

You are my constant. 

Without you, I would not have these beautiful, intelligent, creative, rambunctious, and generally unhinged children. 

Without you, I wouldn’t have someone to complain to. Thank you for letting me.

Without you, I wouldn’t have perspective when I complain too much. Thank you for reeling me in.

Without you, I wouldn’t have the confidence to have put my voice out there and write a blog.

Without you, I wouldn’t have anyone to rub my feet. I’m sorry I won’t rub yours. It’s a foot thing.

I know that I don’t always show it or say it: you are the world.

I love you to the ends of the earth, even when I am exhausted and want you to leave me alone. 

Thank you for accepting and often overlooking my faults. I know they are many.

Thank you for picking up take-out when I have (yet again) failed to make a real dinner.

Thank you for telling me to go to bed and picking up the house when I just don’t care to.

Thank you for always telling me I am a wonderful mother, especially when I am thoroughly convinced that I am an utter failure.

Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams, despite my complete lack of time to do so.

Thank you for loving every single little thing about me.

I love every single little thing about you.

But I still won’t rub your feet. It’s a foot thing.

, , , , , , , ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply