An open love letter to Minion Two

When Ben and I held our wedding three years ago, we (read: I) settled on the theme “Groomzilla and the Geek Bride”. I wanted a no-frill wedding albeit with costumes, no flowers (because who spends $2,000 on floral arrangements for a wedding?!) and more alcohol; he wanted the full works complete with a themed photoshoot, a fancy car, fashion changes, champagne, and, yes, floral arrangements. He mostly gave in and gave up, I mostly lazed off on wedding preps, and we sailed past that episode and grew in love.

He really should have known that that would be the theme of our marriage.

When I was pregnant, he wanted to go to a private hospital and ensure utmost care. I had worked for MOH and knew the financial consequences of complications of going private, and therefore flatly refused to go anything above subsidised care. When the Lil Boss was born, he probably had ideas about how he’d like the kid brought up; I never heard them because I was too happily filling the room with books, more books and the widest range of toys a child could dream of.

When we were handled our keys and started renovation on the new place, he wanted an interior designer to put together a nice indsutrial-meets-cottage theme, with chic Scandinavian furniture and modern art pieces. He spent copious amount of time browsing and annotating interior design magazines. I wanted minimal clutter at minimum costs –interior deisgners locally are overrated – and wanted practical furniture. I was eventually given free rein with the renovations and his wallet, and at every juncture, he asked me if I had budgeted enough space for my books and collectibles.

Granted he was based overseas when I confirmed my pregnancy, when the renovations were underway and since the Lil Boss was born, but details, folks, details.

Through his stint in Washington, he has gamely repacked and sent my indulgent packages with little gifts that played not just to my flail but also to my family’s. It is a rare individual who does not understand fandom and geekdom but willingly abet it because it makes the geek happy.

It is an even rarer husband who walked into a comic con, because there might be something his wife wants in there. He just sent me this stash!

I am gloating, am I not? I have gloating rights methinks. I have joined many mummy groups on Facebook over the past year, and it never fails to astound me how many women mope over husbands who scold them for their purchases or hobbies, or complain about spouses who do not help with the children or the household. Gloriously, I never had to dealt with any of that.

I occasionally feel guilty about not sending him care packages and sentimental notes in return, and then wonder if he had finally resigned to married life with a spouse who is significantly less expressive and effusive than he is.

I feel distinctly less guilty each time I had to rush the Lil Boss to the clinics and change the sheets after an Incident, but that’s besides the point.

Three years on, and I still feel incredibly blessed to be married to this very, very accommodating and indulgent husband, who has catered to my every whim and fancy. A few days early, but happy anniversary, Minion Two, and I love you too.

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