B commented the other night that you wouldn’t know she exists by reading my blog. I think she must have missed the 51 previous posts that include at least some mention of her, but in any case, I thought I should devote an entire post to her to make up for any perceived shortcomings on my end.

You know those long-running sitcoms that have two characters who drive you crazy by taking years to finally get together? That was us. We both liked each other for a long time, but circumstances (i.e. other relationships) stood in the way. Eventually we were single, and I started to find ways of getting to spend time with her, including signing up to play in an amateur production of The Music Man (the infamous farting flutist version [EDIT: B asked me to clarify that it wasn’t her who farted. She doesn’t do that.]). After six months of chickening out, I finally found the nerve to kiss her, and that was all she wrote.

Just six short years later we got married. I wanted to do it much sooner, but B wanted to wait until she was 28, which she considered to be the perfect marrying age.

Over the past few years, our duo became a trio and then a quartet. B was amazing during labour and delivery – you should have seen her in action. Actually, that probably wouldn’t have been good for anyone, but take my word for it, she has the birthing thing down. How many women have woken up at midnight, gone to the hospital to have a baby, and then been back at home by 8:00 am with a new baby and take-out from McDonald’s?

I could go on and on, but my battery is running low. I’ll leave you with a photo I took of B at Winterlude on Sunday morning. She always looks good in pictures, but this is one of those really good ones. Ciao.