So, I should clarify. 

My husband is NOT the bad guy.  He is most definitely with the forces of good.  But it is easy to look at him and think, “YOU!” when I feel like crap. 

My husband is the guy who took me to Target to register and then did all of the registering for me, because I would rather go look at shower curtains.  I almost had a melt down because it never dawned on me that women need things like “super absorbant breast pads”, and God, isn’t that like a maxi pad for your tit?  But my husband just lasered two boxes in for me, as he would a child who said they didn’t want brocolli.

He is also the guy who, even after two weddings and a baby, still feels the need to pretend he is Super Agent Man anytime someone gives him a registering laser.  You would THINK the need to be Bond, James Bond would’ve passed.  You would be wrong.

He is the guy who rubbed my hair until I fell asleep last night, under the guise of this thing he refers to as “reading a book”, and then moved to the guest bed so I could sleep uninterrupted for a FULL SIX HOURS.  I woke up at four o’clock this morning just to celebrate the fact that I hadn’t woken up prior.  THAT’S how good the sleep was.

He is the guy who leaves me voicemails of him singing at the top of his lungs.  A lot. 

He is the guy who thinks that a girl looks better with meat on her bones. (THANK GOD.) And vocalizes it every time we see someone I deem as “I could fit her in one of my ass cheeks.”

He really is a great guy, one worth having a baby with.

And I lurve him.