It’s my husband, Justin’s, birthday today. He is officially 25!
It’s so insane to look back at the last 2 years of marriage we’ve had together, the over 4 years of knowing each other, and think wow… 25 years ago I had no idea that there was this amazing man being born. O.k., so I was only 6 months old at the time, probably teething, definitely slobbering, and wearing boy’s clothes (the hazard of being the only girl of three children). Still, if I had somehow been able to know that somewhere in Dallas Justin Ryan Smith was being born, I’m sure I would have been overjoyed.
Justin’s my best friend—a phrase that means so much more to me now than it did when beads and colored thread were ceremoniously required for such persons. There’s just this unimaginable beauty in waking up with your hair a mess, wearing 3-sizes-too-large-sweat-pants, covered in snotty tissues from a sleepless night of coughing / sneezing nastiness, and have your husband lean over and kiss you. It’s not romantic in the sparkly-vampires-with-pecks-and-too-much-hair-gel kind of way.
Instead, it fills you with this comforting sureness that this person will be there even when you have absolutely nothing worth offering. And we do have moments when we’re both—at least marginally—attractive, well groomed, and doing traditionally romantic things. It’s just that those moments aren’t as special to me anymore as some of their more “rustic” counterparts. Maybe that’s just the effect of having a baby. Or maybe it’s just part of growing up. But now, my favorite part of everyday is sliding into bed next to Jusje, switching the lamp off, and scooting my back against his. In that moment, he radiates love, safety, and peace all around me, warming me up more effectively than my monstrously large blanket ever could.
I’m so blessed to have THIS man as mine and to be wholly his.
Happy Birthday, mon coeur.