I am sitting with my husband, watching him fall asleep-still in his chair-at the dinner table.
He works so hard every day, and comes home late every night. His time is not his own, a slave to his pager.
He chose to practice medicine, and he is dedicated. Careful. Methodical. Brilliant.
So as I watch his eyes flutter over the cup of tea he probably can’t even taste right now, I tell him I love him.
Because I do.
It wouldn’t matter what he chose to do for a living, what matters is the way he commits himself to everything he does.
His job. Me. Our kids. Our life together.
I am grateful that we found each other. So thankful to have this time with him.
My favorite times lately are the evenings when he gets home while the kids are still awake. They hear the garage door open, and run around looking for a place to hide.
Daddy comes in the door, asking me where the kids are.
I tell him I left them at Costco, or maybe at the park…
“Oh no! I need to find them!”
They can hear us, and start to laugh as he pretends to look all over for them. They will either get too excited, and run to jump all over him, or he will rip off the blanket they are hiding under…. eventually they all end up laughing and tickling each other.
He thanks me for letting them stay up to see him.
And I find myself loving him even more.