When I was first married, I remember I loved saying, “my husband”. I was never comfortable with saying fiancé. It sounded pretentious. It also sounded like a maybe. Husband is a definite. Not a guarantee that things will work out but that he definitely wanted me and wasn’t afraid to say so. My greatest concern when stubby hubs hunk asked me to marry him was that I would grow to take him for granted. It is a fine line. One must plan their life with another without making assumptions of what that life will look like.
when our children were born I relished in this new thing of ours. We were a family. They were ours together. “Our children” felt as good as saying “my husband” had once.
we now find ourselves in a new place. Our children’s demands on us have changed. They need us, but in a way that is both bigger and smaller than when they were babies. The energy that was once spent providing entertainment, soothing, and sustenance has been directed toward one another.
though I no longer get that flash or tingle when I say “my husband”, I am still as proud to have stubs as mine. When we were first together we were two people walking hand in hand it the same direction. When our children were small our hands were busy with them. Now we are free to wrap our arms around each other. This place gives me great comfort. We are still learning about one another. The finer points of what makes each other tick.
that we are in this together has never been in doubt. Well, there was that one time where out of frustration, I threw my wedding rings at him and left the room. I could hear him stifling, however badly, his giggles. Man did that burn my britches. I guess I can’t pull off a Joan Crawford moment believably. Much to my chagrin. Unless it’s more Joan playing Joan. “No more wire hangers.” That I suppose I could do.
To say that I love him doesn’t paint a full picture. I know him. As well as I know myself. I can walk into a room, take one look at him, and know where his head is. Just in a look. That has a bit to do with me, but mostly that is stubs. That is from years of trusting me to be careful with his inside bits. The tender ones. The open sores. The scars.
He has told me before that he is grateful that I have shared the same with him. That I have let him witness my vulnerability. That he realizes how difficult that is for me.
Trusting him was never that hard because he trusted me first.E