I love them. I love it when they come home to me. I love the echoing of our laughter off the walls of our apartment. I love the way my wife is stable and silly and endlessly kind. With a laugh that just demands you join in. I love that my husband is deep and adorable and sees the world in ways that leave us saying. "Only you would think of that." I love being in love with them both, I love the sound of them sleeping next to me at night, and the sound of whoever wakes up first stumbling about the room in the morning.
Some mornings, it's my wife, stretching, a loud yawn ( she's never been very good at being quiet, I love this about her), then she's on her computer, whatever video game she's been playing grabbing her attention before she's even had breakfast.
Other mornings, it's my husband, already up and cleaning, or doing laundry or whatever task his busy mind can't seem to go without completing. (It's honestly hilarious he picked the messiest, most scatterbrained duo to spend the rest of his life with. He makes our lives, my life, so much better by being in it )
I miss them when they are at work. The separation makes every second crawl by (I'm truly convinced time slows down when they are not near), but the end of the day arrives all the same and we are together again and everything feels so utterly complete. We can have fun by ourselves, or if it's just two, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to the serenity of the three of us together. I love them, I love them, and I love loving them.
