Sometimes I have murderous thoughts!

They normally occur for a couple of days once a month. Make what you will of the timing, regardless, my thoughts are murderous.

They are usually directed at a certain Mr C.

Everything he does gets on my nerves. Everything. For these few days I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I married him. Why on Earth I am still married to him. Why on Earth is he still married to me. That I would be better on my own. Why he has to do the things he does. Why he doesn’t do the things I want him to mind read me wanting him to do.  Everything. I sneer and I whinge and I moan and I snap and I pick at everything he does and I am a Bitch!!

He knows it, he can tell. He knows I’m not always a Bitch.

I hope!

The truth is Mr C, he’s my light.

Quick pass the sick bucket.

I’m not a massive one for public displays of affection. I don’t need to tell the world constantly I even remotely like my husband. I’m not stuck to his side on nights out. I hate husband birthday/anniversary/valentines/Christmas cards that are soppy. I hate soppy. Which begs the question why I’m writing this! I’m not sure either, lets just see where we end up.

I won’t go back to the beginning but I will tell you a little bit about him.

He makes me laugh like no body else. Actually belly laugh. I don’t even need to be near him, he can text me or tweet me or write on mine or someones facebook and I laugh out loud. Often making me look like a crazy person! He takes the mick, usually out of me or at my expense! Usually really bloody crude or something that I don’t need reminding of! Like telling the world I snore like a wart hog! Any girl in their right mind would storm off in a huff or be annoyed and give their fella the silent treatment, not me! I laugh along! I can’t help it!

I can tell him anything. And I mean anything. He knows my deepest darkest secrets and thoughts. He listens when I try to explain my oddest of worries. He knows when he’s pissed me off. He knows when I’m feeling down inexplicably. If we disagree we can talk about it without the fear of it erupting into a massive row. We can admit when we’re not getting on and things aren’t great and we can work on making it better.

He’s honest. Brutally so sometimes! He’ll tell you what he’s thinking, normally when I don’t want him to! I know he’ll never lie! He can’t hold his own water! When he got back from his stag do the 1st thing he showed me was how bruised his arse was from where the stripper spanked it!! Because he’s honest, I trust him.

He’s a lad. Which is really annoying most of the time! He doesn’t see mess. He likes to play tidy chicken. He likes to go to the pub for a ‘few’ pints. He gets on my nerves when he’s had too much to drink. He says he’s old school. I call him a knob and tell him when he’s taking the piss.

He’s a fantastic father. He’s better than me at this parenting lark. He’s patient and practical and fun and silly and when she’s older she’ll go for a pint with her old man!

He lets me be me.

This is the most important thing. Right from the get go. He saved me, at the time I don’t even think he realised he was saving me, he just wanted a quick kiss outside the Students Union and he got stuck with me.

He let me be me. He lets me breath.

I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. I don’t have to worry he won’t like what I’m wearing, or that my top is too low. I have freedom and I have friends, that I can see whenever I want to. I don’t have to ask permission to go out. When I’m out, I’m not constantly harassed about whos and wheres and what times. He doesn’t go through my phone or check my emails. When I talk to a fella he doesn’t automatically think I am, or trying to sleep with them and he doesn’t call me a slag. If I don’t fancy naughtiness ’cause I’m tired, there’ll be another time, and I don’t get accused of having an affair. I’m never on eggshells. He tells me I look nice, even when I don’t. He understands. He’s never said seriously if you loved me you would.

He makes me happy, even when he’s getting on my tits and being a knob, even when I’m having murderous thoughts. He lets me breath.

He lets me be me.

He helped create the kid

He is my light.

Now pass the sick bucket!!