Dear Husband,

I don't love you more each day. I guess you could say I get more used to you each day, but then who could ever get used to that annoying way you interrupt people all the time? And then there's your incessant need to work out every day and make the rest of us look bad. It might be fair to say that I get more annoyed with you each day, instead.

To be fair, I should mention that I do love you. Probably about the same as I did the day we got married. I mean, really, on that day, you were pretty easy to love. You were still on your best behavior, and so was I. Plus, we had no kids, free alcohol and a little wedding cash so we were doing just fine.

We've been through good times and bad (just like they made us say in those wedding vows that felt so phony to us), and it's been kinda awesome, at times -- and other times, it's really sucked. I still kept loving you, even when you went home for a nap after I stayed up all night birthing our second 10-pound baby girl, so that's gotta mean something, right?

I can't imagine that you love me more every day, either. Just this morning I slept past the alarm and left in a hurry for work, leaving you with two crying children to tend to and lunches to make. That had to piss you off a little, right? You won't give me a hard time, though, because I've been in that boat so many times, too. We understand each other. Yes, we understand each other more and more every day. I can say that for sure.

You're pretty damn genuine, too. Like, really genuine, in a way I pray our children become. That part is pretty cool. I know you, and I know you don't expect me to love you more and more every day. You don't need grand gestures or public declarations of adoration (and if you did, I think you'd know you'd be barking up the wrong sleep-deprived tree). You just need someone to understand you. So, honey, I can promise you this. I understand you a little more each day.

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