I love…

I love the way you smirk when I make a snarky remark and then I tell you how clever I am.

I love the way you instinctively reach for my hand when I’m sad.

I love the way you always know (whether I’ve told you or not) that I’ve had a shitty day.

I love that you hug me when I walk through the door when I have had a shitty day.

I love that you send me a frowny face text when you leave the house without a kiss goodbye. Although, I still appreciate that you don’t come kiss me goodbye when I’m sitting on the toilet.

I love that you send me an “I love you” text every day (almost). Even if we’re both home all day.

I love that you take the girls when I’m getting stressed (most of the time).

I love the way you look at me like I am the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world. Even when I’m in my sweatpants, haven’t showered and am bloated and grouchy.

I love the way you are constantly trying to gross me out, just because you think my reaction is cute.

I love how you remember stuff I say, like how much I wish we had season 4 of The Walking Dead. And then, a week later, you sit down and fuss with your computer and all of a sudden it’s streaming on the TV in the bedroom.

I love how you try to make Princess Punk laugh when she’s pissed off at me.

I love, that when you bring The Peach in the room for a diaper change, I will shortly hear insane giggles and squealing and you playing “Tickle Monster.”

I love that Princess Punk became your daughter too. No question. No hesitation. Just love.

I love that we made The Peach.

I love that you have seemingly infinite patience with our children. And me. And My Mom.

I love… that you love me…

And I love you too.

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