Nine

Nine minutes ago, my hubby smiled sweetly and squeezed back when I gave him a long goodbye hug.

Nine days ago, he really listened and understood when I spoke about my depression, how it's fogging up my thoughts and taking over my emotions. He didn't minimize it or deny it.

Nine weeks ago, he silently freaked out with me when we thought we lost our girl, for just a few hellacious moments that felt like light-years. He searched one end of the area, I searched the other. I will never forget the tone of his voice, yelling her name over and over. When we found her, his eyes mirrored my exact emotions.

Nine months ago, my hubby went with me to put my sweet old man dog to sleep. He stayed in the room. He held my hand, he loved on my dog, he cried with me. He sobbed when I did. He let me stay as long as I wanted, stroking my old man dog's face, murmuring sweet things through my tears. He never grew impatient with me. He took me home and let me cry. 

Forty-nine months ago, we had our sassy girl. He didn't complain when my water broke & soaked the passenger seat of his truck. He was straight to the point when it came time to make a decision about a c-section. He stayed in the hospital room, and went into the OR with me, even though hospitals freak him the fuck out. He didn't complain when I asked that my mom come in the OR as well. He was calm and strong when I cried. He held our girl for hours after her birth, after everyone else went home and left him with a sick wife and a hungry, screaming baby. 

Nine years ago, it was a sunny and too-warm Saturday, and we got married. He dealt with my father and his brothers. He stood outside in the heat, sweating his ass off, to have pictures taken. He said 'I do' and got that sweet smile on his face that I don't see too often now. He danced with me, even though he hates to dance, and NEVER does it. He even dropped me at the end of our first dance. Like, on my head, feet up in the air, off the stage, dropped me. 

So many things have happened between all of these events, some bad, many more happy and heartfelt. We are more than just "married for nine years": 

We are made up of laughs, hugs, tickles, tears. 

Pain, rage, respect, honor. 

Inside jokes, late nights, bad TV, fear. 

Cold feet, warm hands, soft skin, sweet words.

Love, hate, spite, forgiveness. 
Pride, humility, teasing, protecting.  
Faith, hope, prayers, compromise.


I am proud to say we have made it through these nine years, all the good, all the bad, and we are indeed stronger from it.
I love this man, in all (and in spite of) his conservative crankiness. 
I love this man, in all his hard work and pride. 
I love this man, who giggles with our daughter, plays barbies, hide 'n' seek, and Candy Land. 

I love this man, who is so outrageously good with our daughter, staying calm and rational when being rational with a 4 year old is pretty impossible at times. 

I love this man, in spite of the fact that he deleted all of our shows on our DVR last night (we are talking well over 50 hours of good TV, people).

I love this man, in spite of how little he takes care of himself. 

I love this man, in spite of our differences, both little and big, spanning religion, childhoods, death, peace, capitalism, politics, TV shows, music. 

I love this man, who searches for spirituality and peace.
Who calms me when I am stressed out to the point of no return. 
Who makes me laugh in spite of myself. 
Who gets drunk on a random Friday night and makes up new words like 'magicalician' (combining musician and magician) and stumbles over his own feet on the way to bed. 
Who cooks awesome breakfast. 
Who rolls his eyes at my TV loves and my music crushes. 
Who thinks to buy me a subscription to Texas Monthly because he knows I'm a total dork and love to read it cover-to-cover. 

Who makes me watch scary movies with him, laughing at my insane reactions to them. And then watches sappy movies with me, laughing at the overflow of silly tears, helping me to laugh at myself.

Who doesn't complain when I fail to shave my legs for five days, even though I'm pretty sure they give him some sort of carpet burn effect when he grabs them during sex. 

Who doesn't mind my random nights of falling asleep on the couch at 9pm, or disappearing to have drinks with a friend, or stuffing every sweet thing in my mouth. 

Who asks me "Where you twittering?" when I get in a wreck.

Who kills bugs in the house, cleans up dog puke when I don't catch it, & does the dishes more times than I care to mention. 
Who cares for my mother and sister, making sure they are safe and have what they need. 
Who doesn't complain that I fall madly in love with every adoptable dog I see. 

Who loves me, in spite of our differences.

I love this man.