I'm getting the feeling my husband is actually figuring all of this out. I'm going to pretend I'm not stunned, even though I'm feeling a tad giddy.
This morning could have been ugly, and I thought it was heading that way during a round of questioning about the current price of eggs, but he self-evaluated, calmed his approach, became compassionate and soothing, and fixed what I was certain was a recap of life eight weeks in rewind.
This evening I came home from class to the table already set. I hadn't even asked him to do it. And not only was it done, he had taken great attention to detail rather than how he'd done it the evening before—man-style. I admit, I'd gone behind him and straightened everything, because it's been ingrained in me that tables are set just so and I'm a little freakishly anal that way. My Relief Society president, who is also president of Ladies' Knife Club, is making three meals a week for me, so all I had to do for dinner was put the food into serving dishes.
After dinner he helped put everything away and rinsed dishes.
I'm slightly breathless at the change. He's a dream come true.
I should tell him.