What is this thing called love?

I asked my husband to read over today’s post, to see if he thought it was too personal, or too smarmy, or if it didn’t make enough sense, or what.  He went out, read it, came back in, and said — this is a true story — he said, “Well, that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever read.”

I guess you had to be there.  It was funny.  We laughed.  Eventually he let out that, while it was pretty girly and, while maybe not precisely smarmy, definitely within the outlying environs of smarm — he thought that I earned it, because I am a girl, and just had a baby, and so on.

So here you are, and if you don’t like it, it’s just because you don’t understand love the way I do.