Being married to me means having broad shoulders I can lean on, and a resolute Taurean dogged determination and strength, a strong foundation beneath, behind and around me, every day. It means a sleepy kiss every morning when you get up and then coming back upstairs to say goodbye, the ritual three kisses before you leave for work, which I mostly just accept and nod with my eyes closed and half the time can't remember later. It means treating a ready-made almost-grown son as your own. It means being Tigger to my Eeyore, resolutely optimistic in the face of my occasional doom-laden moods, being almost always able to make me smile, and always there with a comforting cuddle if not. It means sleeping on the edge of the bed and struggling to keep hold of a small amount of duvet (apparently). It means thoughtful birthday, Christmas, and just-because presents (I like presents), and a willingness to go out on a late night chocolate run. It means turning a blind eye to untidiness of fairly epic proportions. It means loving me unconditionally, every day. You do all of these things so well.
Today marks one whole year since the day I married my knight in shining armour. Happy Anniversary, darling. I am so happy that we found each other.