Dear Hubby,
It's Valentine's Day, our 17th one as a couple. I want you to know that long-lasting relationships like ours seem to be a rarity in this world, but if we lived in Hollywood, ours would be considered pure gold. Which brings me to this - what the fuck was up with B and Hov on the last awards show we watched? She looked amazing. He is ugly, but he's a mogul and he says "Uh" a lot and I guess that's important if you're a rap star. You are none of these things, and that's ok. I am not Beyonce, and I hope that is ok with you as well.
I got to thinking about the power couple the other day when I tried to listen to her new song about dranking, waking up in the kitchen, surfing, and grinding our two beautiful bodies on each other...first of all, babe, we got TWO kids - there's no kitchen sex. Plus, that's uncomfortable, and we would surely be happier in the big, comfy bed. Dranking is fun once in a while, but that whole KIDS thing kinda makes it difficult to fully enjoy, right? Surfing and grinding on each other - that's pretty hot, even if our bodies aren't what they used to be. I suppose if we had the Z' disposable income, and our jobs were to work out incessantly, we would also want to show off our beautiful bodies to the world. I like our bodies though, we might not be surfboards, more like rafts, but either way, we fit together pretty nicely.
Still, I get insecure. I will never be Beyonce. I will probably lose a few more pounds, but without the means to ensure that I have a chef, trainer, an adequate amount of nannies, and more money than I will ever have to worry about - chances are, you'll always have my stretch marks to trace with your construction-scared fingers, and a little extra flesh to grab when we're in the moment. I will never perform in a leotard, or be at the Superbowl, but I will talk about how amazing you are when I am on stage - after I make fun of you first.
I'm sorry my body isn't the same as the person's you first fell in love with. I can't wear my sheer blouses, I barely match my undergarments and I can totally handle my liquor intake making it difficult for you to fully take advantage of me.
I'm not the person you first fell for. I changed when I got pregnant with your babies. My body changed. My shape and size changed. You say you love it all - and I am glad.
I'm not the carefree, spaz girl you fell in love with. I'm a woman now who worries about her children - your children - and you. I worry about you. I worry about losing you to a fiery crash or a rogue bathroom mishap.
I am not that girl you fell for. I'm almost twice her age and so I aspire to be the person you want to be old with.
Our 40's will be good. I like being the person you sit with at night while we watch acts like B and Jay Zizzle - and we laugh. Not at them, but at their antics. They are hot. They used to produce great music that we used to dance to. And now that they are trying to show the world that you can still be hella sexy after the birth of your child when deep down, we know the truth. The sweat-pants wearing rainy family Sundays eating bad food and drinking soda-that's our drunk in love song and I wouldn't want to be celebrating these days with anyone else.
We don't have the mansion, or the cars or the gems - but what we have - I love it, all of it. Sure, I'd love to have B's hot bod, and if you walked around grunting your verbs and yelling adjectives, I'd still like you, too. But to me, you're enough--all of you.
I will never be Beyonce. And you will never be Jay-Z. And that's ok. You're still my King and I, your Queen B. You can define that B in many ways, bitchy, boring, big, better, but in the end, I hope it still stands for what we started with - your Best friend.
