And he was born on this day, years ago.

Today is Michael's birthday and for the last three weeks I have been trying to write something special to commemorate the day. Well, my deadline is here and I've got nuthin. My words don't do him justice. I tried writing about his grey/green eyes - how kind and gentle they are, how I can tell when he's really happy because of the way the skin around his eyes will crinkle when he smiles. I tried to write about the butterflies I get in my tummy when I hear him laugh. I tried to write about how much I love his work-rough hands, how I could spend hours admiring the little clusters of hair between each knuckle. I tried writing about his broad shoulders, the muscles in his gorgeous arms, how in bed at night while he tells me about how sickle-cell anemia protects people from malaria, I run my fingers through the fur on his arms and his chest and silently thank God he's such a bear of a man. I wrote and rewrote paragraphs detailing how delicious the top of his head smells, how I love to press my face into the place where his throat and his chest meet, how much better I sleep with my head on his shoulder than on my pillow. I tried to explain that when he is happy I am on top of the world but when he is sad my heart is smashed to pieces.

Then I tried writing a thank-you to him, to thank him for encouraging me to chase after my wild dreams, for convincing me that we could survive, even find success in NYC, and for supporting me, emotionally and financially, through it all. I tried writing about how I imagine it must be hard for a parent to let their child marry, how a parent must worry that the new spouse won't take care of or treasure or protect the child the way the parent would. And how lucky I am to have married someone so selfless, so kind, so hardworking, so trustworthy and strong, with such integrity and character that my parents could love him as their own son.

Then I tried to write about what a gift it is to curl up with that man at the end of every day, even if it means sleeping in a horribly uncomfortable position. How I love talking with him over coffee every morning, how wonderful it is that he is so willing and eager to share the day-to-day chores and burdens and successes and laughs. How much easier and more fun he makes my life just with his presence. How much happier I am when I've spent a day with him than without him. How I do not take for granted the luxury it is to have someone who knows exactly how I take my coffee, how I like the cheese melted on my sandwich, someone who knows my favorite color in roses. Or what a treasure it is to be married to someone who's heart I know as well as my own, and yet, who is capable of surprising me on a near daily basis. I tried explaining that I know I'm lucky to have a man who smells like heaven even when he hasn't showered all day and who will interrupt himself mid-sentence to tell me I'm beautiful, even when my face is unwashed and I've just eaten an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's by myself. How sometimes it feels like magic to be married to someone who never questions my feelings, who does not judge my actions, who knew all my darkest secrets and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me anyway. How safe I feel because I know that if I fall apart he will put me back together and if I win he will cheer the loudest.

But my simple words sound banal in comparison to all the great things that make up my husband. Nothing I write could come close to expressing how complicated, how stunningly beautiful my feelings are for him or how lucky I am because he is my partner in crime.

So I will just say this:

Michael, you are the great love of my life. I love you a thousand times and more, to infinity and beyond, forever and in all ways. My knight in shining armor, my trusted confidante, my best friend, my brilliant scholar, my nerdy pal, my treasure. Life with you gets better and better. Happiest of birthdays, love.