In love: truly, madly, deeply.
For today's purposes, I'm talking about romantic, make your knees weak, love.
And I was 27 when I fell in it for the first time.
Those other times I "fell in love"? I know now that I wasn't in love. I was in lust. Or serious, hardcore like. Never love. I know that now because it didn't feel like it did when I fell in love with my husband. (All together now, awwwww.)
Love is not complaining about the lack of activity in the bedroom. Love is moving furniture from room to room, and back again, when I get a whim. Love is not getting frustrated with me when I move, for the sixteenth time, where we keep the diapers. Love is loving me at my weakest moments. Love is helping me wipe my ass after my cesarean section. Love is cleaning up dog poop, taking out the trash, and going to the grocery store. Love is not kicking me out of bed when I smell of sweat and sour milk, with my greasy hair in a pony tail. Love is loving our daughters, caring for them, worrying about them, cuddling with them. Love is the 4 hour commute (2 each way) he drives every day so that he can be there every night to tuck them (and me) in. Love is that feeling you get when you look at another person and know there will never be another.
And I'm still in it.
"Irreverrent, funny, and brilliant." - me
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