But don’t tell anyone!
I have a vagina, which by definition makes me crazy sometimes. I don’t have a problem with admitting that fact. We were going back and forth in the truck tonight after dinner. Even my poor child asked us to stop fighting. (He doesn’t really know the difference between a fight, and a disagreement 🙂 ) That caused me to stop arguing, for the moment.
I knew that, he knew, that I wasn’t done. I wasn’t. After my son was in bed, and Jackson and I were hitting the night time routine, I started up again. I thought I was right. (Can someone tell him now that I am ALWAYS right?) Yet, when he finally got it through my thick skull, that I was wrong, I felt bad. I hate being wrong.
We were in bed, and I tried my hand at an apology. “I have no idea how you put up with me.”
“It’s a challenge.”
I smiled, “I’d say sorry, but then I wouldn’t be me, if I wasn’t challenging.”
He put his book on the night stand, “Never stop being you,” he said, turning to look at me.
“I won’t,” I said, moving to rest my head on his chest. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
I kissed his chest, and the rest, well I think you already know. . .