I love St. Patrick's Day. Wearing green makes my eyes look nice, mostly.
We're not really sure if my Paddy is Irish, what with his mama being adopted and all. I'm not generally big on stereotyping based on appearance (books and covers, you know), but I'd say he makes a pretty good case for it:
I mean, honestly. Have you ever seen such an adorable little leprechan?
Anyway, the point is that I try to make a big deal out of the day whether he's technically Irish or not because I figure I'd want the same courtesy if a St. Kristie's Day existed. Get ready to have your mind blown, here: this is the NINTH St. Paddy's Day wherein I have enjoyed having my own personal Paddy. Nine whole years. Such is young love.
Did you know I love you? I love you. Thank you for loving me back even though I have been a complete and certifiable crazy person for the last month. I'm sorry about all the hysterics and carrying on (I'm Scottish, after all) and I promise to be better.
Thank you for doing the laundry and I promise to fold it. Thank you for working so hard and I will, too. Thank you for looking so handsome in your cuff links, and I'll iron every day for you if you want. Thank you for giving me Bug, and there's nothing else to say about that because she's perfect. I knew she would be because she's partly you, only her burps don't smell like salami. (Gross.)
I smother her in kisses and it's like smothering you, not just because she looks just like you, but also because she IS you, and she IS me, too, and I can't think of a more beautiful reason to believe.
I love you, love you, love you to the moon and back. Someday we'll be old together and have lots of grown up babies and maybe just one will look a little like me and we'll hold hands and I will love you then, too. Burps and all.
Yours, always and always,