My husband is turning 40 this week. I am sharing this with you because I am still 39 and I like to rub it in. He is 45 days older than me and don’t you forget it.
We have spent the better part of our adult lives together and while we were maturing (and, oh my, given the amount of margaritas I drank on Saturday night, I am still deep in that process) we renovated a house, bought a couple of dogs, started a business and had two premature babies.
This man I married has seen me catheterized, watched my stomach get cut open twice to have tiny children removed and still loves me despite the fact that my thighs are bigger than his.
He has stayed at my bedside more times than I can count, held my hand as our son was taken to surgery over and over again and he has brought me the same flowers every spring for the last 16 years. He also has coffee waiting for me every, single day. Bonus!
He has always worked hard so that I could, first, be a stay-at-home-mom and care for our daughter and, second, be a stay-at-home-mom/nurse/therapist/pharmacist/advocate/insurance-wrangler for our son. And, for the past few years he has plugged away at work so that I could blog (yeah, read that again) and take the time to find full-time work that feeds my passion. I love my job and I couldn’t have found it without his support.
Though, I do hate sitting next to him on a plane. Well, except for that one time when I took a Xanax for my fear of flying and he bought me two vodka and cranberries to chase it. In that particular case, it was the best plane ride EVER. So, he has that going for him.
He has one, very annoying habit…okay, maybe two or three…and I blame his seven sisters for the fact that he knows exactly how to make a woman angry. Thanks, ladies, for getting him warmed up for me.
But, despite that harsh, grating noise he makes when he clears his throat, I’m happy that his parents didn’t stop at child #8.
Happy 40th birthday, Dado Fali. I’m really glad that you were born.