I remember the first time my husband told me he loved me.
We’d been at a Grand Final barbeque at a friend’s house and had enjoyed ourselves just a little bit too much. Drunkanese was our language of choice in the taxi on the way home, and Future Husband was starting to declare his feelings.
I changed the conversation and dragged him into the house as I always feel sober words are more effective. Once inside I went in to have a shower and heard him yelling “I looooove youuuuu”. Now he could have been talking to his chair or the cold chicken he was eating, but I knew it was aimed at me… and I, of course, felt the same way.
I heard a little giggle and realised that his flatmate was at home in bed and had heard the entire thing.
I did the only kind thing and put him to bed knowing that Pete (flatmate) would make him re-enact the whole event the next morning… and for many more to come.
Once we realised we had the whole love thing down pat..
We moved on pretty quickly to make ‘life’ plans.
FH looked at me one day and said “ummmm, you know that I love you and that we’re getting married,” Ummmm, yes FH I do know this, but could you get any more freaking romantic? “So” he continued, “do you think it would be alright if we started trying to get pregnant?” “Ummm, sure” I replied and it hit me that I was in fact 5 years older than him and we needed to start trying before my eggs left the building completely.
Two weeks later, I returned a positive reading on all of the 15 pregnancy tests I peed on.
The feeling of being pregnant for the first time in my life was insane. The FH walked through the door, looked at the mass of positive pee sticks and cried. That was perhaps the first time I realised that love was an evolving emotion and could continue to grow to dizzying heights.
The next level of love with the FH came when I was eight months pregnant.
I was in the shower and had washed under my arms, my belly, gazed forlornly at the tips of my toes and then went to soap up my nether regions.
I reached behind me to wash and felt the strangest thing near my bum. I started trying to reach around to see but only ended up looking like a confused dog spinning in circles trying to lick its own bum.
“FUTURE HUSBAND!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs and he came sprinting in “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS ON MY BUM??” FH leaned down, opened my cheeks and said, “Oh Darl, it’s just a hemorrhoid. You must have strained too much while you were doing a poo – do you want me to push it back in for you?”
Now I know you’re probably reading this freaking out, but to know that this man – FH and soon to be father – would even consider doing such a thing for me made me love him just that little bit more.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to smother that sucker with a pillow half the time. The guy makes bending over to unpack the dishwasher a dangerous avoidance sport.
He understands me enough to completely annoy the shit out of me when I’m wrong and laughs at me at the most inopportune times. Half the time I’m infatuated with him and the other half I’m doing the whole plotting to murder game in my head.
And to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.