So this post will plant me firmly in the “old fuddy duddy” category. My husband and I just had an anniversary so I’m in reflection mode. I keep thinking about how our love has changed over the years.
I think if dating-me saw married-me, she’d be appalled.
I put make-up on once a week. I don’t get up before dawn to sweetly kiss my husband before he leaves for work. We don’t do couples’ devotions. The house is far from the haven I wanted to provide for him. Dates are extremely rare. I don’t get butterflies anymore.
And here’s why I’m ok with it.
I’ve learned over the years, that there’s nothing more romantic than when my guy willingly offers to change a poopy diaper. There’s nothing more thrilling than when he comes home to me every. single. day. There’s nothing more comforting than knowing my husband has loved me when I was unlovable. My love is no longer new and exciting, but it’s been tested and found true.
My husband has been faithful to me when I just wanted to run away from it all. He’s seen my ugly and still finds me beautiful. We know each other. Like, REALLY know each other. Intimacy isn’t always pretty. But dang, when you know you’ll be loved no matter what you dish out, that’s security.
So while my love story may not be Hollywood swoon-worthy, it’s what I really want. You young’uns ain’t got nothing on us!