Guess who's forty...



Check out that hair!



Yesterday, my husband of almost sixteen years (eeek!) turned forty. And yes, as has been pointed out to me over the years on numerous occasions, he is indeed my Toy/Lover boy, because I passed that milestone myself last summer. In contrast, whereas I spent much of the previous year in an existential angst, (translation- being a 'total melter'), wrestling with questions such as 'Who am I and what have I done with my life? Let's move to Australia!', he just took it all in his stride, shrugged his shoulders, saying 'I'm exactly where I want to be, I have everything that I need.' and turned forty, just like that. (Of course, there are some who might speculate that HIS midlife crisis manifested itself several years ago in the form of a (cliched!?) red sports car, a deeply loved shiny metal baby that has been all but breastfed ever since, but I would NEVER say that!)



So young...

We met twenty two years ago, in our final year at school- he was lanky and tanned with tumbling brown curls and a more than passing resemblance to a young Tom Cruise (circa 'Risky Business'!). Luckily for me, it transpired he had a penchant for redheads, having long shunned 'Charlie's Angels' in favour of 'Hart to Hart', and although I was definitely no Mrs H, something clicked.  No one had ever looked at me like that before and it took a very long time before I stopped checking for the beautiful girl behind me. I knew then as I know now, that it took a very special eighteen year old boy to see through my layers of fat and bad clothes to the fragile soul within, but he did, all the while believing that HE was the lucky one...imagine that.

Later as students, we travelled throughout Europe, and worked on the Jersey shore. Then, as excited newlyweds, we moved to the US and started our family there. Five years on we moved home with two children, and they just kept on coming! Throughout each labour, he counted me through the contractions while my nails drew blood from his hand. Afterwards, he pulled me through my bleak post natal months, anchoring me when I could barely get dressed and gently holding my head above the swirling waters of despair.  

A good man, a great father, my very best friend. When he's there I enjoy the craic that little bit more and when he's not I find myself saving it all up to tell him later. At the grave risk of sounding like a bad Country and Western song, he's all I've ever wanted and all I'll ever need.  So Happy 40th birthday to my One and Only-who on account of his age is now lobbying to be called 'Lovergent' or even 'Loverman', but I'm afraid he'll always be just 'Loverboy' to me. Xxxxx



Himself and Myself..