We've been married almost 8 years, this man and I, and it is remarkable to think of the journey we have been through so far. Lesser couples would have crumbled. We have persevered through our trials and come out stronger on the other side.
My son whimpers. I freeze, eyes glued to the monitor. Is he waking up? Part of me hopes so. Part of me hopes to enjoy this little slice of solitude a while longer.
He fell back asleep.
This man with whom I have chosen to spend my life with I have not always been fair to. I've looked at him with contempt and through the lenses of "how inept can you be", but I have also seen him through the viewfinder of pure blinding love, and see the goodness rooted deep inside. His gentle nature, his need to take care of us, and his need to be taken care of. His smile, his warmth, and his laugh can be strangers at times but when they decide to show up they are ever so welcome to stay.
My son and my husband. My husband and my son. Two men who complete me. Complete our life. They give me a purpose and a reason for existing, for drawing breath. My husband hears my heart from the outside, my son knows it from inside. No-one can ever know me better. No-one can ever complete me more.
The silence continues. I take another taste of my coffee, and as the warmth slides into my body I sit back and realize how very lucky I truly am because I am a woman who loves and is loved in return.
It doesn't get any better than that.
