I sat at Happy Hour the other day, drinking my Dr. Pepper (don’t even think about getting on me about drinking caffeine while I’m pregnant – I wasn’t having a margarita like I really wanted) and listening to the girls I work with talk about relationships. I thought about Steve and smiled at how lucky I am.
Some people are with others who bring out the worst in them. Some people are married to people who nag them, criticize them, won’t let them be themselves. Some people restrict the other from their hobbies, don’t help out, tell the other what to do, and generally treat the other like shit.
Steve isn’t like that. Steve loves me for me, and that’s what I think love is. Steve doesn’t try to change me or tell me not to hang out with my friends. Steve vacuums while I scrub the toilets. Steve makes dinner while I run to the store to get him beer. Steve supports my choices and encourages me to do what I love.
I came home, without an alcohol buzz, but smiling nonetheless because Steve was here at home. I told him how lucky I am to have him and kissed him. And he kissed me back. I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.