Dear Mr. Rosenberg,
Meeting you was the first date that changed my life. I had no idea that below-par sushi and a ride in an old minivan would be so monumental. You are tall, dark and handsome, but also sweet, goofy, and smart: the whole package.
You have never let our ten-year age gap get in our way, even though I got sober the same year you had your bar mitzvah. You are also accepting of my shoddy credit rating, and two previous marriages. You embrace me with all of my life-luggage and never try to change me, but you are happy to support me when I want to change myself.
One month after we were married, we found out I was pregnant, and you were thrilled. You didn’t care that what would traditionally have been our honeymoon phase was filled with my morning sickness and a bed taken over by oddly shaped body pillows. I felt nauseated and bloated and you told me I was beautiful.
You worried about being a good dad. You worried that the skin-to-skin contact that the doctor said we should have with the baby might not work with you because you had so much chest hair. You worried that he was too warm, too cold, too hungry, too tired, too fussy. You worried. And you fell in love with our son.
When you were touring with the band, you kept to your promise to never be away from us for more than five days. Often, you took us with you. We are your favorite people, and you treat us just like that.
You are passing along to Bob your gentle way with animals and your passion for music and numbers and books. You show him that working hard at your job is a way to demonstrate your love for your family. You have taught him that it’s almost never the wrong time for the underpants dance. You are the perfect dad for Bob.
You are always on my side, even when I’m not. You did not see the inside of our new house that I picked out until we had already been in escrow for more than a week. You drink the tepid half cups of coffee I leave around the house so I don’t feel guilty about wasting when I make a new cup. We don’t argue much, but when we do, you are fair and always the first to make up.
You grew a beard when I asked, even though you thought you would look like Shel Silverstein. (And you did.) You are patient with my backseat driving. You pull our dog into your lap every morning and whisper good things to him. You remember to celebrate all of the milestones. You love my friends and family as your own.
These last ten years have been excellent ones.
You are the kindest man I know. I am so proud and happy to be your wife.