Butterflies

I was just lying in bed, trying to sleep, but too excited to do so. I keep running through the list of things in my head. Is the house clean enough? What outfit should I wear? What shoes should I wear? What should I make for dinner tomorrow night? Did I forget anything? I have painted my toenails AND my fingernails (I haven't painted them in years). I will shave tomorrow morning and remember to pick up ice-cream at the store. I can't wait to see my husband. I want to show him my new afghan, my plants, how far I've read in my book, my new computer game, the wedding pictures. Like a little kid I want to show off the good things I've done and hear how wonderful and good they are. And they will be. He won't find fault with anything. He will praise everything I show him. The house could be a mess, but it would be clean enough for him. I could serve up a frozen meal, and that would be fine. I could show up in a potato sack, and he would still think I was beautiful. All he wants, all he needs, is for me to be there, waiting for him. He needs to see my excitement in my eyes as the smile spreads across my face when I see him. He needs me to run into his arms and laugh and cry and hold him and tell him how much I missed him, how much I love him, how I never want him to leave again. He needs me to constantly touch him all night, to make sure it really is him. He just needs me. And because of that, I want to give him all the rest. I want to be the most intelligent, patient, gentle, beautiful, talented, creative, wonderful, loving wife in the world. Because I think he is the most intelligent, patient, gentle, beautiful, talented, creative, wonderful, loving husband in world. Because he truly loves me, for me. Something I never thought possible. I can't wait for tomorrow.