I wrote yesterday that I struggle with news of babies. This is not always the case and I was over the moon to receive a text this morning about the safe arrival of a baby girl to some good friends. Sadly, this delight quickly brought tears.
I am proud to say that today is the first time I have cried this year. I am however, as always, not proud of the reason for my tears.
The proud text came from the father, who added that both his wife and daughter were looking beautiful. This is of course, not unusual. We frequently hear husbands say how proud they are of their lovely wives on such occasions. So why the tears?
I have a husband who loves me. I know this fact as an absolute truth. He shows me how much he loves me every day, in so many different ways, but despite his MA in writing, words are not his weapon of choice. He is a man that does. He does everything for me. And I mean everything. He cooks, he cleans, he irons, he shops, he manages our finances and pays our bills. He makes me my favourite food when he knows I am sad and he always makes sure the chocolate cupboard is fully stocked. When a diagnosis of polycystic ovaries broke my heart he was the one who read the book and changed my diet. Our darling daughter is all thanks to this. He is a wonderful father. He holds me up. He is very much my Atlas.
But still, when other husbands share their adoration for their wives in public, I feel sad. I worry that people will not understand, that people will assume that he “just doesn’t love me enough.” Brought up on a diet of Point Romance and chick flicks I want the words, the surprises, the poetry. This is unnecessary. And it is unfair of me. Worse still, I tell him this. I put pressure on him and spoil our time together.
He knows about this blog, but I don’t know if he reads it, but if you are reading this my darling, then I’m sorry. I love you more than you will every know. You are my sunshine and you are my oxygen. You are my hero and there is not a doubt in my mind you love me too. I can’t promise to stop my unreasonable demands, I can’t promise not to cry when I hear other public displays of love, but I can promise I will try. And I can promise I will love you for the rest of my life.