Today I looked around the kitchen after working on stuff in the office/barber area of our home. Everyone was sleeping except for me. As I looked through the kitchen, I saw your sippy cup, your random hot wheels, your bendable toy, your mr potato head, and a bag of your cheerios. I freakin started bawling my eyes out. I couldn’t help it. I see these items and I know that with time, you grow, you progress, and we see less of the these toys, less of these children’s things, less of your snacks. I know that you’re just getting older each day and learning so much, but part of me is still in awe of the fun and joy you brought to me a week ago. I love my son so much. I just can’t help but know that these moments pass but I hold on to them forever.
My second Father’s Day with my lil potato.
I love you so much.
This love, is a different, deeper, ever changing kind of love.
My junior.
I can’t wait to get home from work and just hold you ! My little pork bun !
I love you so much.
I love you for allowing me to love you.
For allowing me to say I loved you. For never making me feel like
I couldn’t tell you I loved you when I did.
The moment I knew I loved you, you never guilted me into feeling like you would never let me express it. That’s not the love I needed. I needed a love that didn’t call for immediate reciprocation and that is what you gave. However to my surprise you too were in love with me and held nothing back. You openly admitted to me and confessed your love to me despite our past. I love you the way I imagined I would. The type of love that makes me tear up just thinking of all the reasons why I love you. I tear up writing you texts messages, thinking of things we’ve gone through in such a short time. Here’s to our future. Ours means more than jus you and I. ;) here we go babe !
I love you, hunnie.
Built this for my fiancé.
She’s stoked on it and is ready to cruise the city with me. The only problem is…… I have grown to like this bike for my self ! What to do what to do ! Maybe fix mine up a Lil more to my liking.
