To me, the most tender, the most romantic kisses are the ones my husband plants on my forehead. I don’t exactly know why, but it makes me feel treasured and special. I have a small collection of photos with those lovely forehead photos. When we are older than dirt (which is sooner than later), I’ll look over these pictures with a sense of longing in my heart. How precious our love and our relationship has been so far.
This was taken last week, on a usual Friday night, driving our boys to and from baseball practice. I love that Michael is looking grizzled and manly. And I just look like I’m fat and happy.
|40 and still wearing polka dots.|
What a difference from this photo, taken back in 1996. Look, we actually had one chin each. I have all of those curls and my husband has his mini-afro in full effect.
We were so young. So in love. So ignorant as to what it would take to maintain a successful marriage. But we had faith, hope and love. Of course, the greatest of these is love.
If you are wondering why my young cute face has been marred by what appears to be a gouging of the photo, you are absolutely right. My photo got stabbed by an overzealous and jealous baby mama. Long story. I’m sure she would have much rather scratched out my real face. But at the time, my photo was all she could get to, thankyouverymuch.
Still, I can appreciate the preciousness of this photo, of this pose. I can’t wait to see what we’ll look like in another fifteen years. I’m confident that we’ll still be in each others arms, and he’ll still be planting his special kiss on my forehead.