I adore my husband.
He loves me.
Not in the way he says it. In the way he cares for our children. In the way he does things when he doesn’t know I’m watching. In the way he makes breakfast when he’s exhausted on a Saturday morning. Or the way he tells me to leave them with him so I can go run errands. In that he runs me a warm bath (and feeds the kids) because I’m in severe pain after work. In the way he tucks me in after he’s tucked our little girl. In the way he gets my favorite foods and drinks. He loves me in spite of my idiosyncrasies or woo-woo-ness. He loves me when I’m heavy or shed the weight. Whether I have red or purple hair. Even if I am a hot mess. He loves me because he found that my love for…
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