People often comment on how children make them old. Fathers say their daughters caused them to go grey. Mothers say their kids turned them from young and fun to boring little old ladies who like to just stay in on Saturday nights.

Our kids give us mini heart attacks by behaving bravely and living dangerously. Their fearlessness combined with their trust in fate is something we adults have long forgotten.

Our children’s questions, back-talk, lack of knowledge of social ettiequte and filter have, at times, made us want to shrivel up into a cave to never see the sun again.

All these things are referred to when we talk about how our children make us old.

But my husband is the one who has made me old.

Every morning when we greet each other with a good morning and a kiss, I smile.

When we ride in the car together, and still hold hands the entire way after almost 6 years of marriage, I smile.

When we finally get the kids to bed and sneak out to sit in our chair, or hang out in the kitchen – prepping breakfast, talking finances or working side by side, I smile.

Every camping trip, adventure or dream of the next, I smile.

You see, my husband has caused these wrinkles in my face. The smile lines that are getting deeper and thicker each day.

I hope to get old for a long, long time.