I have known my husband since he was 16 and I was 18. We met many years ago, and there was an instant spark between us back then as teenagers. I always thought he was hilarious. Very funny without trying, a little geeky, ridiculously tall, intelligent, sensitive and in possession of the cutest dimples known to man.
We went through a few years without being in touch, and then got in contact again in our mid-twenties. And the rest is history: we dated, he proposed, we got married and had two babies.
In recent years (since our eldest was born), the strains of married life with babies have taken their toll. I’ve devoted less time to him and more on the kids (as so many women do). I’ve been angrier, more distant, more stressed. And he’s remained firmly at my side. He’s tolerated all of the bad moods, the anally retentive tendencies, the highly regimented routines, the moaning, the whinging… He is a genius when it comes to pulling me straight out of a terrible mood – using his fabulous sense of humour, naturally. And not forgetting that he works bloody hard to provide everything for us.
A few things have happened recently that have prompted me to consider and reflect on all of the above. Luckily I am realising that I am incredibly lucky to have him – consequently I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself about this!
So there you go, my brief and simple word of the week is ‘husband’, as a tribute to my lovely Mr Chick.
You may now reach for that bucket to hurl into. (Sorry about that).
Another link up with Jocelyn at thereadingresidence.com for Word of the Week.