(Soon to be) Husbeast

Posted on | Sunday, November 14, 2010 | 2 Comments

I have been battling a cold for the past several days, which has given me ample time to think (or at the very least try to think whilst my brain is addled by Nyquil). And in between coughs and sneezes one thought came to mind: Elephants and Superglue.

You see, Alex and I have secret code words for "I love you". Some came from books, or from just silly moments we've had. But those two... those are the special ones. They mean something deep, deep down that I still don't entirely have words for. It will hit me suddenly, in bursts, the quiet knowing that what we have is something incredible.

It's Alex, my slayer of zombies and creator of napalm.

It's watching him on Skype with Kael, his attention rapt on every word coming out of that little voice. Playing hide and seek through computer screens just to get that extra giggle. Or better yet, watching them play together at the park or even in our living room. It's like magic. He's an incredible father, even if he doesn't know it yet. Regardless of what is happening if Kael wants to talk to him, there's time. Always.

It's how we can have a three hour drive and not once turn on the radio because we truly enjoy each others company. We debate, and we argue--sometimes to the point that I want to whack my head against a wall. But even then he is extraordinary. He makes me think, makes me back up my opinions and he pushes me because he knows I am smart enough to push back. And he listens. Not just nodding here and there to give the illusion of interest, he delves into topics with such ferocity that we spend hours discussing anything from politics to the importance planning for zombie invasions. He challenges me to think, and to not let my emotions get the better of me.

It's how he takes care of me. I'm not broken to him, and he doesn't treat me like some frail thing that is about to wither away. He loves me not in spite of my disabilities but because of them. The days that I am stuck in bed he calls and texts me, making sure I am okay. I can call him and just say "I'm having one of the bad days" and he already knows what to say to get me smiling again. And the days that I feel I can run a marathon he reminds me that I am, in fact, not the Bionic Woman.

He takes the trash out for me, carries the heavy grocery bags, sends me random texts every day, answers his phone at any hour of the night, reads me bedtime stories, reminds me to eat, skips with me around the park because he's just as silly as I am (though he may never admit to it fully), sends me flowers, makes me flowers... This list can go on for ages.

It's why I love him.

I, on the other hand, have the attention span of a Great Dane puppy and use guttural sounds to express my emotions. I also flail. A lot. And will bound across the room in Harry Potter induced, geeked-out fangirling. Or explode in silliness over a too-cute-for-words baby beluga plushie at the Atlanta Aquarium. I break into song, too. I've woken him up on his days off from work at 7am to tell him such things as, "OMG THERE'S A BUNCH OF BIRDS OUTSIDE AND THEY ARE FLYING SUPER CLOSE I NEED A NERF GUN" or "GELATO IS AMAZING, SO IS POPCORN".

Have I mentioned that he's patient? And gorgeous. He denies this, but anyone who has met him will beg to differ. He's not one of those jock-jerks that saunters up in a Tapout shirt flexing his muscles and expecting women to faun over him. Oh no. He's the guy that will do intellectual laps around you without trying. The guy that isn't afraid to get dirty and takes pride in his work. The guy that will melt you by smiling. And then amaze you as he holds the door for that elderly woman, or is out taking photographs that deserve to be in National Geographic. The guy that makes girls think, "He's definitely taken, dammit."

Yep.
















I'm a lucky girl.

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