He loves me, he loves me not
Check out this photograph that my daughter took of her daddy. I couldn’t stop looking at the picture and then it dawned on me why I was so taken with it . . . I have never seen this expression on my husband’s face. It’s one he reserves especially for her, I suspect. Sure, he might smile at me, but the smile is filtered through 16 years of stuff. Four babies lost to miscarriage, the death of his parents (and our beloved dog), long periods of financial instability, more than a little nagging, one large interstate move, and the occasional night spent on the couch. He loves her freely and fully, this curly-headed comet who lives in our home - the consummate daddy's girl. I fear my cuteness wore off in the mid-90s sometime.
Is this how a marriage goes, then? Eventually you start to realize that your hand hasn't been held in a very long time (except by a three-year-old, when crossing the street). And that maybe no one is too concerned anymore about what you did all day. And that your best crystal vase has sat empty for years. And that maybe you never hear "you look nice today" because you do, in fact, look like shit.
Is this how a marriage goes, then? Eventually you start to realize that your hand hasn't been held in a very long time (except by a three-year-old, when crossing the street). And that maybe no one is too concerned anymore about what you did all day. And that your best crystal vase has sat empty for years. And that maybe you never hear "you look nice today" because you do, in fact, look like shit.
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Nomadicmommy