From the day of our first date, it was a wrap. The swagger emanating from this man was something you’d only see on the Hurricanes in the 80s and his lips were like two soft pillows that I just wanted to take a nap on. The first time we cuddled? Every square inch of our bodies somehow intertwined, and we remained that way throughout the course of the night. We were like conjoined twins…only not, because that would have been incest, and we’re not from West Virginia. Anyway, I woke up the next morning with one pervasive feeling:
I was in trouble.
It wasn’t two days later that I was buying him medicine when he came down with a cold and not a month later that we were exchanging our first “I love you”s and becoming boyfriend/girlfriend (squee!). Sure, there were some setbacks and challenges along the way. Maybe some girls that simply would not get the picture and go away. But we’re past that now. I’ve moved on. I mean, if you were to ask me if I wished they were dead, I would totally say no. I just don’t wish they were not dead.
In any event, our early challenges ultimately culminated in The Great Break-Up of 2011. Naturally, I was devastated, but being the strong, independent woman that I am, I decided to use this as an opportunity to better myself and get healthy, on both an emotional and a physical level. So I changed my diet to a bottle of wine per day and a Chipotle burrito every third day and spent my days productively crying to Taylor Swift songs and old episodes of Friends. I was so far gone, I even caught myself contemplating whether or not I should watch Bridget Jones’ Diary, but ultimately resolved to only watch Renee Z. in movies where some Scientology nerd pretends to like sports.
Anyway, because my husband and I were still very much in love, we continued to speak daily and saw each other between 4-5 times per week. Each time he’d waltz through my door, it’d take every fiber of my being to pretend that I wasn’t in the midst of an Amanda Bynes-style meltdown. I’d have to give myself a pep talk in the minutes before he’d arrive, confidently looking in the mirror, painting on a smile, and resolving to just be myself…on Xanax.
It was the best of times.
In the end, we obviously got back together, and the rest is history. We got married, had a baby 5 months later (Brooke, don’t do the math), and got pregnant again another 5 months after that. In years marked by stress and turmoil, where our relationship should have been tested, we have only grown closer and stronger as a couple. And now, we find ourselves celebrating my husband’s first Father’s Day, a milestone I am so happy he didn’t reach in his teen or college years. (Insert Trojan ad here.)
So in honor of this joyous occasion, I thought I’d count down the top 10 reasons why I am so insanely in love with this man.
10) He is an amazing cook. And it’s a good thing, because he once asked me for a pan, and I brought him a cookie sheet. I am not what they’d call “domestic.” Lately, we’ve been enjoying cooking Blue Apron meals together. They’re convenient, insanely delicious, and involve a remarkable amount of lemon zest.
9) He loves me for me…even when that me is a bedridden, unshaven mess. To be quite frank, these days, it looks like I’m walking around with a Bob Ross wig between my legs. I often wonder whether I should attempt to give it a perm or possibly dread it, which is typically when I begin to ponder whether or not I could send it to Woodstock without having to go myself. I wonder if they make Birkenstocks for the vagina…
8) He rubs my pregnant belly down with lotion every day, so as to avoid stretch marks. And never forgets to tell me to pull down my pants so that he can reach the “problem areas” on my hips. He’s so considerate.
7) He’s my calming force. When my scalp is unusually sensitive and I begin to (gasp) Google, he promptly pulls the computer away from me before I self-diagnose scalp cancer. It ended up being the hospital shampoo.
6) He has calmly, patiently, and somehow happily put up with two back-to-back pregnancies. Men, if you’ve never experienced anything like this, let me paint a little picture for you. Imagine your wife in the throes of PMS…only with those hormones sticking around for 9 months, instead of a week, and no alcohol there to self-medicate with. It isn’t pretty. And while we’re on the topic, how is it that we can send a man to the moon, but cannot manage to invent pregnancy-safe alcohol? I now know why the religious are so iffy about this whole “science” thing.
5) He humors me when I tell him stories about what happened that day on the pregnancy message boards. I’ll spend roughly twenty minutes trying to explain some kind of convoluted drama that no one harboring a Y chromosome could possibly care to understand, and this poor man probably emerges from the conversation trying to remember what fun was like. But he listens. Or at least pretends to.
4) He watches The Bachelor and Bachelorette with me. Though I think that’s mostly just so he can make suggestive comments about the female contestants and then watch my head spin in circles whilst I speak in backwards Latin.
3) He has taken my bed rest in stride and never once complained. Honestly, our most exciting part of the day is deciding whether we’re going to stay in bed or move to the couch. It’s like a fun little choose-your-own-adventure. And I wonder why he was so excited to get a job.
2) He’s hot.
But the number one reason why I love my husband? In more ways than I can count, he reminds me of my own dad. He is thoughtful, considerate, selfless, and a true provider. He is funny, childlike at times, but smart and serious at others. He’s laid back and sports-obsessed, and above all, he loves me. Each day I view my husband interact with my daughter, I can see my own interactions with my father staring back at me. It’s like a mirror image of memories that I didn’t even know existed in my brain. And in this way, my husband has given my father life, even after death. So Patrick Sullivan, thank you for all that you do. You are everything that I could have wished for in a husband for myself and a father for our little girls. I love you more than I ever thought possible, and I hope to bring you half the happiness that you’ve brought me and our daughters.
Though maybe we could remove “problem areas” from your vocabulary.