By Pamela Brownstein
This week, in the throes of my deadlines — which for me falls on Tuesday evenings, meaning I probably haven’t showered since the weekend and have gotten very little sleep in the past two days and still have one long night ahead of me and, even though I work from home, nothing has been done in terms of doing the laundry or picking up after the kids or feeding the pets — as I sit hunched over my computer in my “office” (which is actually just a messy desk in the corner of our dining room) my husband, Daniel, who had only been home for about 10 minutes after a day at work and picking up our two kids from daycare and is still dressed in his suit and tie, asks me if I would call him A: The love of my life; B: My baby daddy; or C: Some guy I share a house with.
I laughed and replied, “I guess all three.”
Then I asked him, “Would you call me A: Your fun, sexy wife; B: Your baby mama; or C: Some crazy lady who sits in front of a computer all day and night.” He laughed too, and right before he went outside to walk the dog, he added, “You forgot ‘Love of my life.’”
I was glad he left and couldn’t see me start to cry a little because that was the best, sweetest thing he could have said, and it reminded me how special he is and how lucky I feel to have him in my life.
Happy fifth anniversary, babe. Looks like we made it.
