B and I have been together for three and a half years. We own our own home and have an eight month old son. Those are pretty big milestones and we have accomplished them fairly seamlessly. Oh how I LOVE our relationship. We can bicker, argue, flat out refuse to agree and not once have I ever felt unloved. I’ve never felt like I’m not respected. I’ve never felt like my voice should be quieter then his. I know he feels the same way.
We are both incredibly stubborn but we are also both incredibly kind. If I’m out of line, he will tell me. If he’s out of line, I’ll tell him. We push each other to be better. I push his to take out the trash and do his dishes and he pushes me to take better care of myself mentally and physically.
It doesn’t seem to matter how frustrated I get with the garbage overflowing, the man just won’t take it out. I’ve broken down and done it a couple times this past month and he hasn’t even noticed. I just don’t understand how he can spend 5 minuets balancing a protein wrapper on top of the heaping pile and not spend 5 minutes to take the damn thing out.
I know he gets fiery when I don’t spend a few moments each day to reflect and “check in.” Because I get so snippy when I don’t. When I feel like I’m doing it all and I am at the mercy of a 17lbs human and I have the poor me’s. He can make his workouts a priority and his mental health thrives because of it. I can’t seem to create 20 minutes to myself each day for a little yoga. To him, this makes no sense. To me, ......... just take out the trash.
We always, always, always say I love you. No matter how many times I asked for the garbage to be brought out, yet it’s still sitting there. No matter how many times he tells me to leave the house a mess and do yoga or have a bath. When he walks out that door to go to work or we lay our heads down at night, we say I love you.
Because we do. We love each other.
It doesn’t have that punch it used to. My heart doesn’t start and stop at the same time when he says it. It’s more of a comfort now. A warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee. It rolls off our tounges effortlessly, but never insignificantly. We are so lucky our relationship has reached this point. It’s not a lazy, don’t care, wear sweats and only shave in the summer attitude. It’s an understanding. On a really fricken deep level.
He understands me. Understands my attitude, which lets be real can seem like it’s own person some days. Understands what makes me stressed. Understands what makes me happy. I can jump from one topic to the next which would leave most people dazed and confused and if I asked him, B would tell me exactly the steps my mind took to get there. It’s wild.
I understand him. I understand his need to weigh all his food before he eats it. I understand his level of commitment to the gym. I understand when he doesn’t hit the weight or the reps he was supposed to how it can ruin his entire day (week.) I understand that he loves me so deeply, loves our son so deeply, that he works himself into a stress ball thinking about money and our future and how he can provide everything he thinks we need.
We only need each other though. And I know. That’s sooooo lame. Soooo cliche. But it’s true. We balance each other out. I’m either a 1 or a 10 (happy or angry) and he’s always a 5. Okay, so he pretty balanced. But without me he wouldn’t be laughing at 11pm when it’s way past his bed time because I won’t stop tickling him. And yes, it’s really passing him off. He’s sitting at a 5.5 right now. But I love it. I love him.
Love doesn’t always have to have a punch. It doesn’t always have to skip a beat. If you’re lucky, love will be the rhythm that you move your life to.
Much Love,
Megan
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