Husbands are a different type of Best Friend

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Do you guys know Robin O’Bryant?  She’s hilarious.  Insightful.  A published author.  I adore her.

She wrote a piece that was published on the Huffington Post about how she’s not married to her best friend.  It’s really, like most everything she does, a great post.

Robin brings up some great points about her relationship with her husband, Zeb, vs the relationship she wants/has with her best gal-pal.

In my eyes, though, everything she describes about her relationship with her husband, does, indeed, make him her best friend.

I just think that husbands are a different type of best friend.

Now, I don’t know about your friends, but mine are all so different.

I have my best friend since childhood.  The one who I’ve been friends with for so long, it would just feel wrong to not call her my best friend.  She’s artistic, geeky, and loyal to a fault.  In the 18 (!!!) years that we’ve been friends, I think we have only had 1 argument, and that was very early in our friendship.  I can tell her most anything, but she’s not particularly girly, and we’ve always had a few differing interests.

My best friend since middle school, she’s my troublemaker friend.  Passing notes in class, introducing me to what being a teen living in the city was like.  The one who got to hangout with whoever she liked, whenever she liked.  Hacky sack, smoking dope, and listening to her friends play in their garage band.  An awesome dancer, so cute that everyone loved her, and quick to make friends.  We barely knew each other and then one day we started hanging out and have loved each other since.  We fell out of touch for a while, but when she had her first baby we found each other again and it was like we’d never stopped talking.

Another friend was Captain’s best friend’s girlfriend.  The more we’d all hang out, the more we came to enjoy each others’ company until she and I became great friends, despite being in completely different phases in our lives.  We became shopping buddies.  She, and another friend, filled the need I had for feminine past times.  Shoes became Cabin Girl’s first word because of the amount of time we’d spend shopping and having lunch dates together.

When Captain and I moved across the state with Cabin Girl, I made my first real, ‘from scratch’ adult friendship.  Our firstborns were born a few weeks apart and we were both looking for a friend in a new town.  She’s cautious and an introvert, but, surprisingly, I didn’t scare her away.  A bit nerdy and an insanely talented crafter, once she opened up, there was no going back.  The bond that began as commiserating mothers became a fast friendship of shared experiences and thoughtful conversations.

I consider all of these women, still, to be my best friends.

They each provide me with something the others don’t but it doesn’t make any of them less of a bestie.

The same way that what Captain provides me doesn’t make him any less of my best friend, either.

Robin said, “I want best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel I’ve been wronged and hear her say, “What a b*tch! I can’t believe she said that to you!” I want to be married to a man who says, “Who gives a sh*t what she thinks?””

My best friends offer me counsel just as often as they get mad on my behalf.

They gently remind me of what’s important after listening to me rant and rave about stupid things that upset me.

We commiserate on the frustrations of everything from diet to kids to societal issues and then bask in each others triumphs.

They are my shoulders to cry on and hands to hold.  My support system and my sounding boards.  My biggest champions and some of my most cherished people.

All of these things can be said about Captain, too.

Captain just gets the added bonus of seeing me naked almost every day.

So, yes, my husband is my best friend.

I don’t know what else I should call someone who has held me while crying, puking, and giving birth (on many separate occasions), knows all of my hopes and fears, has cared for me and those I love when we’re sick, can make me laugh until I hyperventilate with a well-timed look, infuriates and excites me simultaneously, and has made me feel complete these past 8 years.

Happy Anniversary, Captain.

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I am proud to call you my Best Friend.

 

Accept that aging doesn’t diminish spousal attraction

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Does age change the attraction you feel for your spouse?  Do you worry about your spouse wishing you looked different?

Even though I’m not yet out of my twenties, being a mother of 4 is taking its toll on me.  Mentally, emotionally, and, most notably, physically.  Captain will be 30 this year, and the tolls of hard work and stress are showing on him, too.

Tell-tale signs of self-neglect lay the foundation for insecurities that I’d hoped to be past by this point of my life; Dry skin, yesterday’s makeup still smeared beneath my eyes, crows feet, frown lines, and frizzy hair, to name a few.  Add onto those the major changes having babies puts you through; Wider hips, stretch marks, extra weight, and changed breasts.

So many things that I look at and think: Ugh.

Enough things to make me wonder why Captain still takes an interest in me, as I’m clearly not the 17 year old girl he encountered when we first met anymore.

Things that make me consider expensive treatments to fix.

Until the other night, when I was cutting Captain’s hair and noticed that his hair is thinning.  If, as they say, men should look to their mother’s side of the family to find out what their predispositions for hairloss will be are true, then he’s on the road to becoming completely bald before he’s 40.

I looked at him, really looked, later that night, and saw what I’ve always known was there: stretchmarks over his muscular thighs, laugh lines and crows feet of his own, moles, and his receding hairline.  Things that really aren’t attractive at all. spousalattract

I really absorbed the way Captain has started to age, and you know what?

It didn’t change the way I feel about him one bit.

His extra weight doesn’t make me want him less.  His complexion doesn’t make me less attracted to him.  His silvering, thinning hair doesn’t make me want to go out and find a younger man to romp around with.

Why would I assume that the faults I see in myself would make him love or desire me less?

So, the next time he calls me beautiful, I’ll accept it with a smile.

When he says he finds me sexy, I’ll put my self-depreciating doubt behind me.

Because I love more than his body.

He deserves me to be accepting of his loving more than mine.

Oh Captain, My Captain

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There are a lot of sayings out there about love.  How terrifying it is.  How great it is.  How much work it is.  How simple.  How complex.  How it fills you up and leaves you empty at the same time.

All of them?  True.  Undeniably, inexplicably true.  How can so many adjectives apply to the same thing?

When I met Captain, I had just come out of a semi-serious relationship of 2 years.  When he walked in the door all of my insides seemed to flip upside down and inside out.  I knew; He was special.

I fell in love with him, hard and fast.  The feelings I had for him began to permeate every bit of my heart, mind, and soul.  Every fiber of my being, there is now a piece of him in it.  Thinking about being without him?  Unimaginable.  Considering it makes me physically ill.

When we started having kids, that didn’t change.  I don’t love him more than I love my kids, but I love him different.

Our relationship came first, and it always will.  A day will come when our kids leave to start their own families.  To find their own spouse that will become their entire universe, and I hope they do find them as early as Captain and I found each other.  But when they leave, we will be left with just each other, and I want that time to be just as passionate as our time before kids.

He is the most important person in my life.  My kids are important, yes, but we share the love and responsibility for them.  If he were to leave I would be left alone in that burden.  I would have to leave my kids in the hands of someone else every day so I could work.  If he were to leave I would lose my biggest champion.  I would lose my best friend.

So he is my priority.

Oh, I don’t leave the baby screaming so I can rub his feet, but there are a few things I try to do as often as possible (and that lately I need to do more of) to show him that, despite all the chaos, he is the most important person in my life.

Bring him his coffee. (If I’m up at the same time.)

Make him a hot breakfast. (Again, if I’m awake.)

Help make his lunch.

Send him a text or two letting him know I’m thinking about him, and that I appreciate him.

Make sure he gets a half hour of uninterrupted time after he gets home from work to wind down and shower off the day.

Serve some of his favorite meals rather than kid friendly ones.

Give him back rubs/head rubs while we’re watching tv.

Ensure he has clean laundry.

Initiate intimacy.

Yes, a lot of it is gender stereotypical stuff, but we’re a stereotypical family.  We share the duties of some things (i.e: He helps me with dishes because I HATE them, and we fold laundry together), but for the most part it is my job to keep the house running smoothly while he brings home the bacon.  Making our home a welcoming place for him to come to after he works a long day to take care of us financially is one of the ways I take care of him.

Without him, I wouldn’t have my beautiful family.

Without him, I could very well still be on a path of self destruction.

Without him, I wouldn’t get butterflies in my stomach every single day.

Without him, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be chosen as someone worth loving every day.

He is my most important person.  My special someone.  My person.  We dream of growing old and grey together.  After the kids are gone and busy with their own families, he is the one I will spend the rest of my days with.

He is my Captain, and I will always be grateful for him.

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