To My Husband…on our anniversary

It’s been seven years. Love isn’t heart-racing, sweaty-palms, giddy school-girl kind of moments anymore.

It’s deeper.

It’s harder.

It’s better.

When we were dating, I loved the way you looked in your sleek, black North Face jacket.

Now, I love that you let me borrow any of your clothes when I’m pregnant, and (usually) hang up your collection of 2,847 jackets when I ask you to.

I used to think it was so sexy that you played guitar in Young Life club.

Now, I love that you wake up every other Sunday before seven, and  lead worship in church. It’s a long day. And you never, ever complain.

I used to get giddy when we’d listen to Brad Paisley (*our song*) in the car. We’d hold hands, and bask in the glorious romance that is country music.

Now, when country music’s on around here, you’re usually doing the dishes, or cleaning the garage. Babe, that’s pretty sexy, too.

Back in college, I thought it was deeply significant that your feet were attractive (you know, for feet). I usually hate feet, but yours were cute.

Now what I love? Those feet that carry our sleepy boys to bed. That kick soccer balls for impromptu bedtime matches. That drag out the trash on rainy, cold days so I don’t have to.

Ages ago, I loved getting all dressed up and having dinner at fancy restaurants, long, romantic “good nights” by the door.

Now, it’s amazing that you eat all my boring, allergy-free, budget-conscious meals, without ever complaining. Unless there’s no meat. Then you complain. (You’re a man’s man.)

I always thought it was hot when you came home all sun-tanned and polo-ed from golfing with business or friends.

Now, you don’t golf much anymore, unless it’s barefoot chipping contests with Sam in the yard. Honestly? That’s even better.

I used to love knowing you could figure out what was wrong with my car in five questions, that you seemed to have a garage-full of tools for anything.

Now, it’s amazing – dead-sexy, even – how you fix our toilet when it starts shredding the toilet paper (again). My heart skips a beat when you un-stick the garbage disposal. And baby – that time all my hair clogged the shower, and you scooped it all out on your hands and knees? Amazing. Just amazing.

I always loved that you were a hunter. All those guns and rods…a manly, natural sort of man.

What’s amazing now is how you kill millipedes and cockroaches (those awful, horrible animals) without wincing. Oh, and that time you snagged a live squirrel in the living room with your bare hands. That was incredible.

I used to love spending an hour getting all primped for a date with you. And the look on your face when I wore one of your favorites.

Now, it’s amazing, miraculous, really – how you still tell me I’m beautiful. Even when I’m nine-months pregnant, un-showered, with stains from dinner blotting the same clothes I wear week after week.

I always loved our date nights together – all those long chats about nothing and everything…

These days…These days we do the dishes, clean up the living room, and watch a show together in bed. It’s really, beautifully, magically special.

I used to think it mattered who your friends were, and what your degree was, and how you looked when you got all dressed up at weddings.

Now I know the truth.

You are amazing – because you put the boys to bed before eating your dinner, when you know I’m fried and need a hand. Because you forgive me for all the stupid, irrational things I’ve said at the wrong time of the month. Because you work hard every day so our little family can be together at home.

Seven years ago, we had no idea what we were getting into, did we, babe? Life is so different now. It’s routine, and chaotic, domestic and loud, monotonous, and crazy.

And you know, there’s no one else, I’d want to live it with.

I love you, Todd.

Jessica

 

 

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