A million years ago, my guy had dreams of making quad movies for a living.
He spent most of his free time with me… but what little bit he didn’t was devoted to playing Call of Duty and Guitar Hero.
His idea of a well-rounded meal was multiple Macho Tacos from Del Taco, lettuce intact.
He loved pulling pranks.
He liked playing his guitar when he woke up, around noon.
He was gentle and sensitive, with me and me alone.
I loved him so much it hurt. I wondered, when old people would smile and say our love would grow, how I could possibly love him any more than I already did.
That was before I had ever seen him hold a sleeping newborn in his arms, his tattooed bicep around their fragile bodies creating the most beautiful juxtaposition of big-and-strong with little-and-vulnerable.
That was before I had heard his voice trade Metallica for lullabies.
That was before he hosted living room dance parties or built block towers or zoomed trucks along the living room.
That was before I got out of the shower and looked everywhere for him, only to find him gazing lovingly at his sleeping children, loving my babies as much as I do.
That was before I heard a little boy cry out every evening, “Daddy’s HOME!”
That was before our little girl started to curl up under her covers at night and then pat the bed beside her and ask, “Daddy here?” so he might come lie down beside her. Not to talk or sing, not to do anything but lie there and make her feel safe, warm, loved.
I’m sure the rumors are true and our love will grow even deeper. But right now, tonight, I just can’t understand how I could possibly love him any more that I do now.