Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong decade, because within the feisty, independent Anna there seems to be a 50s housewife. Or perhaps this is what happens when you truly love someone? Never in my life did i think I could ever be this happy, so much in love and what’s more, is that I’m this insanely happy and in love with my best friend. I cringe at the cheesy term “soulmate”, but B truly is mine. And perhaps because I love him with every fibre of my being, I want to look after him. Hell, I’d wipe his arse if he needed me to. I am grateful he does that himself though, don’t get me wrong. Just sayin’.
It’s just gone 5am and I’ve been up for half an hour, getting up with the Great Big Love of My Life to see him off – he’s in Amsterdam for work over the next couple of days. Not long, I know, he’s back here early evening tomorrow but already my heart is aching. Where the fuck did this love sick, needy and clingy person come from? I look in the mirror and although I still find her pretty cute, I sometimes have to giggle at this version of me I don’t always recognise. I like her a lot more, that’s for sure though. Not that I ever didn’t, I’ve always been a big fan of Me, but love really does bring out the best in us.
So it’s almost with a sense of possessiveness and a sprinkling of Mama Bear that I feel so unbelievably content any time I get to do something for B. Not that he has EVER asked me to do any of these things and in all likelihood would never bat an eyelid if I didn’t. I’ll bet my last penny (and I’m pretty penniless at the moment) that he’d be just the same, this beautiful man creature who still bewilders me by loving me so much in return. I feel good when I iron his shirts and take pride in folding them THE ANNA WAY any time he has to travel. I feel good when I get to make chilli and garlic with some additional ingredients like chicken or king prawns for him. Just like I love it when I can welcome him back after a day at work to a home that is tidy, clean and like a warm embrace for him to walk into – well, that’s how I want him to feel: wanted, treasured, desired, welcome, needed and appreciated (amongst countless other good things B deserves and should get to feel).
I have friends who’d flinch at this, who would recoil at the idea of looking after a man. And they would probably recoil even more at how B looks after me. After all, he is now the bread winner, having encouraged me to follow my dreams and as a result (at least now when I’m still starting out on this new-ish path) my income has shrunk considerably. To almost nothing, to be precise. And nothing of this seems to turn him resentful. Nor has it meant he now expects more in the way of balance and me doing more at home. However, more than ever before, that’s become more important to me. Sure, I’m giving the writing my best shot, but it’s important to me to redress the balance by making everything else easier for him. And that does involve making sure our home is a nice place for him to walk in to. And remember – I love it, so I don’t see it as a chore.
Therefore, as tired as I was at 4.30am (probably every bit as tired as B), it was nice to get up and put on coffee, then sit with him when he had his breakfast.
Sometimes it seems the idea of me-Tarzan-you-Jane gets people thinking there must be something wrong with you, and perhaps I am just differently wired in that sense. See, I want a dominant partner – I want a partner who’s in the driving seat and who’s that little bit bigger, stronger, toucher and cleverer than I am. But that’s not to say B and I aren’t equal. In fact, I don’t think you could have a more equal relationship than we have. Just because I look up to him doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to cry. B has all the respect in the world for me, and his love is unconditional regardless of whether I’m having a weak or a strong moment.
What makes us so great is that it goes both ways, these little touches and bursts of showing love. Sunday afternoon I was about to perish due to period cramps. B took Monkey out for a kick-around on the park, and when they got back, he’d got me a card and a keyring. The sweetest little gesture that made me feel so happy there in my hormonal, miserable rag week hell.
Right. At 5am it turns out I am at my absolute smushiest. What can I say? I love my life, my two boys and everything else I am blessed with. Sometimes I feel like standing on the balcony, throw my arms out and kiss the sky, thanking the universe for making things so sweet.