Being an incurable night owl married to a freakish morning person, I spend an awful lot of time just sitting in bed, watching Sam sleep and pondering how much I love him and the bizarre gift of him loving me in return. In Bridget Jones' Diary her habit of watching Mr Darcy sleep is lame and creepy, but in real life (in my case, anyway...) it seems like a pretty great marriage exercise. He snores his heart out, I observe, I think about all the awesome times we've had together and the random things I adore about him and then I fall asleep. Always happy. It's great. And he knows I do it but he isn't creeped out, so hooray for patience and understanding, right? Although, why should he be? He's getting beauty sleep and his sweet wife is reliving his finest moments. It's not a bad deal, if you think about it.
And sometimes, like right now, he rolls over and puts his hand on my head (or my face) and it cracks me up so I have to keep from shaking the bed with laughter. When I'm really lucky, he grabs my hand in his sleep. I don't think anything makes me happier.
On a completely random note: tonight we were watching Robin Hood (the Russell Crowe movie, not the show I obsess over) and some character referred to Marian as "her ladyship" and I blurted "she's not that big, you don't have to call her a ship!" Sam whispered back, "her ladyboat..." Ah, much better. My feminist side is completely appeased. And I rather like the term, too. Her ladyboat. Hahahaha
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love.
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