Love is a funny thing.
I was thinking about it a lot yesterday, what with it being Valentine's Day and all. The husband and I didn't do anything. It was the first time ever that he has had the day and evening off work since it's one of the busiest days of the year for pubs and restaurants, so naturally a few people assumed we would do something 'special'. With a toddler in tow, I'm not quite sure what we were meant to do but never mind. We had a nice relaxing day with H, the husband cooked both lunch and dinner but we didn't go all out so to speak. Risotto for lunch, chicken roast for dinner.
Love comes in so many different forms doesn't it? My love for the husband seems to change. I hope that's normal. Some times I feel like like we've gone back to the beginning. Totally and utterly head over heels IN love. Other times, whilst I still care very deeply for him, I feel like I only love him as the father of my child, or that we are living like flat mates, albeit ones who share a bed. I think it's normal as there have been times he has said the same to me.
Before H, if someone had asked, I would have laid my life down for the husband. I know now that I wouldn't, couldn't, because I have other responsibilities. Yet I also know that most of the time, the husband would lay his life down for me. Does that mean I am no longer in love with him? Or that I love him less than he loves me? I don't think it does, at least I hope not.
I love my family. My sisters, my brother, my aunt and uncle, cousins, grandparents. My late Mum. My Dad. I love each of those in a different way. It's not the all consuming love that I felt when I first fell in love with the husband but it's definitely love nonetheless.
I vividly remember a conversation with a friend about a year before I fell pregnant. The husband and I were approaching our second wedding anniversary and she asked if we were at the point of wanting to start a family. My response was that I was still very unsure if I wanted children. My reasons? Largely because I couldn't imagine loving anyone more than I loved my husband and parents, or mothers at least, are meant to love their children more than life itself. To me, at the time, that was quite unimaginable. I was also scarred from horror stories of evil children, the ones that appear in the press, namely Thompson and Veneables, both of whom are the same age as me. The thought that my child, my responsibility might, turn out like that, made me feel physically sick and would bring me to tears (and still does if I am honest).
I often over-think things and spent much of my pregnancy worrying that I didn't have enough love for this child I was nurturing, growing inside me. How wrong was I? Some times I get quite scared by the strength of the love I feel for H. The love that makes me think I would do absolutely anything for him, to protect him, to stop him getting hurt, to help him achieve things he wants to, to support him. The love that means I can spend large chunks of time smiling at him, playing with him, sitting quietly and being amazed that I helped to produce this unique little real life human being who is a joy to be around. Sure, we're hitting the "Terrible Twos" (a turn of phrase I am not fond of by the way) but you know what? I still love it.
So love comes in so many different forms. It doesn't mean one is right, one is wrong. Just that it changes. At least that's my take on it.