Last year Bryan's birthday was kind of a dud for him, I think. We had a very new newborn and I was recovering from giving birth, and I wasn't allowed to drive so I didn't even manage to pick up a card for him, and it was a good thing my mom was here to make dinner because otherwise he would have been eating soup from a can on his birthday.
I'm really trying hard to make this birthday better for him. He deserves it. Man, does he ever deserve it.
Six years ago, Bryan and I came dangerously close to breaking up rather than deciding to get married. Sometimes in bed at night I break into a cold sweat remembering, and then I say a prayer of thanks for the outpouring of grace that managed to get us through that, and to make us both realize that we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Preferably sooner rather than later.
Bryan and I often joke about how sorry we are for all the other parents in the world, because we got the best baby ever and they're missing out. What I don't say to him - at least not often enough - is that I feel that way about him, too. All those other poor women, missing out with their substandard husbands, while I have the cream of the crop.
This point of view is, of course, merely a feature of the fact that the ones we love are most precious to us. Still, even objectively, I think I got a pretty good one.
I stay home with the Billa and he gets up an hour or two before we do, every day, and goes to work to provide for our family, and then he comes home and matches me diaper for diaper, and puts the baby to bed at night, and takes out the trash and does laundry and never ever complains if he gets home and I haven't gotten around to starting dinner or even coming up with a dinner to make.
And all the things that make him really special are less tangible, harder to describe, but even more important. Like the way he has never, even once that I can remember, made a comment that made me feel the tiniest bit unattractive - and the way I know he's committed to helping our daughter respect and love herself as well. The way he's the only one who gets some (okay, a lot) of my jokes, and the way he's sympathetic when I make a joke so bad HE can't even laugh at it, like he really wishes he could make it funny for me even though it's not. The way he's never rude to people, and even if he's quiet they feel comfortable around him, and the way he loves to give gifts and surprises and make other people happy.
I could go on all night, but he's here, and it's his birthday, and even more than I want to write about him, I want to spend time with him.
Happy birthday, Babe!