Let me tell you...

It's Breast Cancer Awareness month.  (Just in case the pink on the NFL field didn't make that clear.)

November 6th will mark my seventh year battling this disease.  My husband and I "joke" that I have been sick nearly half our marriage (15 years).  We're taking that "in sickness and in health" vow to heart.

Let me tell you about my husband.

He is the WORST gift giver.  At the beginning of our marriage he would gift me with moo-moos from Kohl's.  And then after A LOT of wife-y education he once decided to give me diamond earrings for my birthday.  Thing is, I was wearing my grandmother's diamond earrings, which my husband accompanied me to the jeweler to reset and which I wore on our wedding day, when he gave me those diamond earrings.  He does NOT get birthdays or anniversaries or Christmas.  If I want it, I send the photo and a VERY unsubtle email/text to my husband - these are my sizes, favorite colors, GET ME THIS EXACT IMAGE.

Let me tell you about my husband.

In August 2009, his mother passed away from breast cancer,  She only met two of her five grandchildren.  In 2012, his wife (me) was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Our youngest wasn't even a year old.  In 2017, his sister was diagnosed with breast cancer.  In 2019, his godmother was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Gotta say, those are pretty shitty odds.  Did I mention that my aunt and grandmother also battled the disease?  Even shittier odds for our daughter - coming from both sides of the family.

Let me tell you about my husband,

My husband is my soul.  My husband is my life.  My rock.  My pride. My laugh track.  I have a therapist because, well, stage IV.  I trust her, adore her, believe in her therapy.  (She KNOWS how frustrated I get with my "gift-disabled" husband.) Thing is, my husband knows EVERYTHING about me.  He knows my fears, my flaws, my deep, deep flaws, my manic moments, my joys (except for the gift-giving shit), how to make me laugh till I cry - hell he knows me better than anyone ever has or ever will.  And, for fuck's sake, he still loves and puts up with me.

So, let me tell you about my husband.

He's not perfect.  Oh, and I am deeply flawed.  Last week we both took the Meyers-Briggs personality test.  He took it for work.  I took it for fun.  The results?  We should NOT be married. He's ying.  I'm yang.  I think it's our demented, sarcastic sense of humor that keeps us together.  I'm certain it's our deep admiration of one another that keeps us together.  It's our honest communication. Our daily kiss. Our "I swear on our love," policy.

So, my husband?

Sorry ladies.

He's mine.
















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