When I first met my husband he gave me a little spring in my step. He was hot. He was 25. I was a mom. I was 32. He liked me. He like liked me. It made me feel a little extra sassy. Mama’s still got it and all that, right?
Years later the discrepancy in our ages sometimes creates the opposite effect. I wonder if I look older when I stand next to him. Does his under 30 skin make the spots on my face more obvious? I am tired. It shows. I aged quite a bit the year after Emily was born. It’s happening again. Staying awake for a year can wreck you. The lines in my forehead are deep, rivaled only by the dark circles under my eyes.
This morning I took matters in to my own hands. I took an old, old man to bed. He has a grey beard and his feet smell like corn chips. But he makes me feel beautiful. He kisses like me there is no tomorrow. His brown eyes have seen me happy. They have seen me sad. He loves me unconditionally. His breath leaves a little something to be desired. But I love him. With everything I am.
Excitement on the side 