I sat this evening, watching my wife play…

Her face glowed with happiness and excitement at her big brother’s Lego blocks clutched tightly in her pudgy little hands.
Her diaper had slid over and one rosy cheek was poking out.
I smiled with pride and joy in my heart – thinking…
At seventeen months, my wife was a beautiful little girl.

Huh?  Excuse me, sir?

OK.
I wasn’t actually looking at MY wife, just her beautiful, perky little doppelganger, our daughter.
But I have seen pictures of my Love at that age and it’s amazing – right down to the outward flip of the strawberry-blonde hair on the right side of her head.
If an image was ever so “spitting”, this is it.

My wife never thought she was beautiful.
Still doesn’t.
Of course, I don’t count…

I could tell her she was hotter than Georgia asphalt….

…hotter than a June bride in a feather bed…

…hotter than…  well, you know what Alan Jackson said…

…and she wouldn’t believe me.

You know what I mean – yours is probably the same way.

It was funny… dating.
She wore clothes that hid those delicious curves and those… well, anyway…
It was a year into our relationship – granted, I was out to sea for 99% of it – before I was even aware of how blessed I was about to be.

Yes, we were good kids – no premarital sex.
Was it difficult?
1. Let me repeat the “mostly out at sea” part… and
2. I knew who and what I was getting.
She was the full package.
Smart.
Financially responsible. (one of us had to be)
And, did I mention HOT?
Definitely worth the wait.

Didn’t she get it when she was on a dependent’s cruise, aboard the USS Phoenix, a Los Angeles class submarine on which I was stationed in the Navy, and there seemed to always be men just S T A R I N G at her?
Didn’t my beautiful bride get it when she saw the reaction of the crowd – the moment she entered the church sanctuary to publicly profess her undying love to me for eternity?
Yeah, and she sewed that perfect wedding dress too.

Does she not understand that I am a Male?
With “man” standards?
In other words, as a young man, I wanted her because she was hot – not because she dazzled me with her intellect…
And now, after fifteen years, I still see her as a incredibly sexy woman with deep blue doe eyes that just suck you in.  And don’t get me started about those…
😉

What’s it going to take?

She was modeling formal dresses in a wedding show – long blue dress – with heels – she was like 6’2″…
Another lady commented to her how strikingly beautiful she looked…
She called me all excited that someone had called her beautiful.

Does she think I tell her that just to get some lovin’?
– sigh –
But I digress…

Growing up, everyone called her fat and ugly.
I saw pics of her in her early teens – not the wordage I would use…
I guess that’s what happens when you’re the first one in your age group to hit puberty.

I’m not sorry that she had to go through that.
It was a character builder.
She survived and became a terrific person because of it.
There’s not a mean bone in her body.

It wasn’t until our little girl was born that my Love started to really see.
People are ALWAYS telling us that Megan’s so beautiful.
Five years previous, when he was a baby, they said that about our son as well.

But this time, there was a difference…

My wife had pictures of herself at the same age as our daughter is now and they look like twins separated by 40 years!
She had always believed she was an ugly child from day one.
Now, as she listens to people telling her that our little lady is beautiful, those words also speak to her heart in a totally different way.
It was all a lie.
She was beautiful from the start.  Now she knows.

One of these days, I’ll have to tell you how we met.
My life has been terrific since.

So anyway, I was sitting around earlier this evening – watching my wife play.
Her face glowed with happiness and excitement at her big brother’s Lego blocks clutched tightly in her pudgy little  hands.
Her diaper had slid over and one rosy cheek was poking out.
I smiled with pride and joy in my heart.
At seventeen months, my wife was a beautiful little girl.

(C) Alan Mowbray