Dear Husband,

Remember when we were in our 20s, before kids and bills and meetings and obligations? Remember the time before 3am screams about nightmares and toddlers trying to watch you pee? We would take a drive in your jeep with the top off and you would take your shirt off to get some sun. You were pretty sexy.

Remember when the only things we were worried about were making it to work on time and deciding if there was enough in our bank account to rent a movie at Blockbuster? We would snuggle up on the couch and binge watch Lord of the Rings until 2am, only pausing it long enough for you to get me another drink or rub my feet. You were pretty sexy.

Remember when the house was always clean and quiet, and we would spend a lazy Saturday sleeping in and browsing through antique stores? I would pretend I was interested in the old comic books you liked to look at and you would nod and smile when I pointed out the pretty vintage china in the hand-carved buffet. You were pretty sexy.

We’re a lot older now, and there are a lot more people in this house. There never seems to be enough time for talking or meandering or sleep. The jeep is gone and we drive something with three rows of seats and good gas mileage. When we’re feeling crazy, we watch Food Network until 11pm or until you fall asleep on the couch and I have to wake you up five times before you come in to bed.

Our Saturdays are usually spent at a child’s birthday party, doing yard work or running errands. I’m pretty sure the last time we were shopping together something got broken, someone threw up and the battery died in your truck.

But you know what? You’re still pretty sexy.

When you get up at 3am because you hear the four year old crying before I do, you’re pretty sexy. When you’re outside mowing the grass and pause to wave at the one year old staring through the living room window at you, you’re pretty sexy.

When I call you in the middle of the day almost in tears because the dogs ran through a mud puddle and tracked it through the house, I found lice on one of the kids and the toddler won’t let go of my leg, and you step out of a meeting to talk me off the ledge – you’re pretty sexy.

When you get my coffee in the morning, do the dishes after dinner and tell me you think I’m hot in my reading glasses, you’re pretty sexy. And this morning, when I realized I forgot to give our eight year old her lunch before she left for the bus – you grabbed the lunchbox and ran out the door. I looked out the front window to see you call for her, then hand her the pretty flowered lunch bag. You bent down, the tall man kneeling before the little girl in her purple jacket and pony tail, and tied her shoelaces before sending her back to the bus stop. You have never been more sexy to me than in that moment.

So even though we’re a little older now, with a few more wrinkles and a lot more experience, I wouldn’t go back in time. Even though the jeep is gone, you need an ankle brace for volleyball and we yell at people driving over 20 miles per hour down our street, I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re still pretty sexy.

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