Love, Love, Love

Sometimes I just can't believe how much of it I have. When I look at that little boy, cuddled up beside me on the bed or crawling like a wild man across the kitchen floor, my heart nearly explodes.

Remember those first days and months with a new boyfriend? That feeling that your relationship was full of *new.* You fell asleep thinking of him, slept dreaming of him, and woke up counting the minutes or days until you could see him.

As Brett and I near 12 years together and six years of marriage, that adrenaline rush is, for the most part, gone. Rather than being the relationship equivalent of a new pair of heels or a flashy leather jacket, Brett's my sensible yet cute flats or my cozy cable knit cardigan. My heart may not skip a beat at the sight of him, but I swoon in a different way when I crawl into bed with him and gently drape my foot over his.

I'm just fine with that.

But, James, he's my exclamation point in life. He's the one who consumes my thoughts, whose birthday I've been planning since the day he was born. He's the one whose room I creep into to stare at before bed. I think that's exactly how it's supposed to be.