Dear Husband,
We have been married for eighteen years now. I know you know this, because a) we got married in 2000 which makes it very easy to do the math and b) you’re pretty smart and good at math.
Now that we’ve gotten past the obvious, Dear Husband, there are a few promises I’d like to make to you, if you can just hang in there for a few more years the rest of our lives.
Here’s the truth:
If you stay married to me, I will leave coffee mugs in random places all over the house. It will be weeks before some of them are discovered and make their way back to the coffee table. But, I can promise that at least, they will ALL be empty. Cause with me there’s no drop left behind, Boo.
If you stay married to me, Dear Husband, I will borrow your hoodies, constantly. You will, on a regular basis, be like, “Dang, why can’t I find any of my hoodies, yo??” And then you’ll see one hiding on the floor next to my chair in the office, or crumpled next to my side of the bed, or in the laundry hamper, or in my car, or um, on my actual person and you’ll be like, “Oh. That’s why.” Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. AND your hoodies will smell like my hair products. BONUS.
If you stay married to me, your dining room, kitchen, and living room floors will only be clean about 7 times per calendar year. And never at the SAME time. Sorry.
If you stay married to me (and let me remind you at this point that you DID promise), you will have to sot with me on nights when my anxiety is off the charts and even your most soothing statements can’t talk me down. (Also, maybe start marking these days on a calendar to prepare yourself, because they will very likely occur at the same time each month. At least my crazy is consistent. Thanks hormones!)
If you stay married to me, you’ll have to be the rational one when my mind hits the “Mom worry” cycle about our kids. You will have to repeatedly tell me that I am a good mom and that they will be fine. I will try really hard to believe this in my heart, but you’re gonna have to say it…A LOT.
But Dear Husband, it’s not all bad. I swa-air.
