And well, because of that, he sort of re-wrote my story.
Before we met, my story was about climbing corporate ladders, chaos, fast paces, and a little recklessness. Marriage and children was an afterthought and I wasn't actually sure I'd ever get to it.
But he changed that. He changed me (not in the Twilight way, though, in case you were wondering.)
He changed my story.
To this.
And I couldn't ask for a better re-write to my story.
My husband is an athlete. He's smart; he was in college before he was 18 and in a fraternity before he could get into any clubs. He's freakin' hilarious. His dance to the beginning of American Idol is so funny that my eyes stream tears from laughter and it may or may not have sent me into labor once. Also, he will never admit to a soul that he does this dance, but I assure you, it does exist.
And he's sensitive. I say that because that handle he's holding goes to a little red wagon pulling those two little mens and his back is carrying a diaper bag.
Most people don't know his softy side, but I do. That arm wheels a little red wagon around a pumpkin patch with two little mens in it, gives great big huge hugs, holds hands, changes diapers, pets kitty cats, waters plants that his wife neglects, home improves, folds laundry, mows lawns, puts up Christmas lights and at the end of the day, turns a key every night to come into the house we made into a home together.Happy Birthday, honey. Thank you for making my story so happy. I love you.
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