My husband and I recently started meeting for lunch on Fridays. It is the only time during the week we can sit across from one another, share a meal, and have a meaningful conversation without the hundred interruptions that come along with parenting young kids. Getting this time together is a way of being intentional in our marriage.
I look forward to this lunch all week. Friday mornings I am counting down the minutes to eleven o’clock so I can meet him. I get butterflies and I get a little anxious the closer the clock ticks towards eleven. I feel like I am twenty-one again waiting for him to pick me up for a date.
Before heading to meet him I always run to the bathroom to touch up my make-up and brush my hair. I want to look good when I see him. He has seen me with a week’s worth of unwashed hair, he has seen me covered in formula and spit up, he watched me birth our babies never looking away—even when I thought it was too gross to look myself, and he has even cleaned up after me when I vomited all over the kitchen floor from the stomach flu.
But even after sixteen years I still want to put my best self forward for him—even though he has loved me at my worst.
After sixteen years I still have a racing heart on the way to meet him, I still feel like the girl who fell in love with him sitting on a porch swing so many years ago.
After all these years I still get excited when he grabs my hand to hold it.
I still get flushed when he makes eye contact as I am talking. After a thousand conversations together it still feels like he never tires of my voice.
I know no matter what storms pass I married the man who still makes me feel like the girl he met all those years ago.
I married the man who will always give me butterflies when I see him.
This piece is featured at Her view from Home, you can read it here