I spend a whole lot'ta time talking about my baby girl on here, which is so much fun. However, there's someone else that deserves some attention today. He's the guy that stole my heart and never gave it back.
|This goof. He is my favorite.|
Thank you, Stephen. Thank you for giving me grace. Thank you for giving me the confidence in myself to be a good wife and mommy. Thank you for listening to my horrible attempts at telling jokes, for listening to my rants about the Kardashians, for allowing me the opportunity to be at home with Caroline so often. Thank you for being a God-fearing man; for encouraging our little family of three to go to church and pray together. Thank you for making me feel really pretty, even when I'm covered in spit-up.
|My very favorite tattooed boat captain. And his dog.|
You see ladies, I married a good man. Here's a story for you:
When I got home after having the C-section, I was a puffy, bloated mess. My feet looked like cartoon drawings, I couldn't get my rings on to save my life and I walked with the grace of a four-ton elephant. It was hard seeing myself like that and, I won't lie, I cried in the hospital and asked one of the nurses, "Will I always look like this?!" (She assured me I wouldn't. And pregnant girls, neither will you.)
But every time anyone came over to visit and see the baby, Stephen would always say, "And doesn't my wife look amazing?" and squeeze my hand.
He also got up extra early for those first weeks to help me shower, help me get dressed and, yes, even help me do some not-so-glamorous stuff, like cleaning my incision. But he always told me how pretty I was and that he loved me so much.
It was the happiest time of our life, those first weeks. We learned the art of parenting. We hugged. We kissed our daughter. We fell in love with her. We fell in love with us, again and again and again.
I love you, Stephen.
Sei la mia luce.