My husband, when not active for the National Guard, works a manual labor job.
He supports our family solely by the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back. A man of permanent shirt tan lines. He's very proud of the work that he does for both himself and our family. And I never knew how incredibly proud I would be of how hard he works for us as well.
Well first let me make things clear, my husband doesn't work these labor jobs because he "has" to. He chooses to because he love it. No, we aren't poor, he provides more than enough for our family. And no, I'm not just lazy and don't want to work. We both want to raise our kids how we want which means me staying home to enforce those values, and can afford to do so right now.
When he gets home every day, he lifts up his ball cap, drops his water canteen, and kicks of his boots. His clothes damp, covered in stains, and smelling of a hard day's work and still pushes on a smile with a hint of exhaustion. Showing all of us how much he gives everything that he has for his work and family. And showing our kids a great example of strength, perseverance, character, and grit. Just another reason I am so proud to be his wife.
But my favorite part about my hard working man is his hands. Hands that have held us all tenderly in bed as I went through pregnancy and the kids have fallen asleep. Hands that have held up my legs during labor and rocked our scared children. Hands that have held all of our hands in times of need and sometimes just our of love. Hands that are so rough with calluses, but yet still so gentle to us. The very hands that hold us all together.
And every night I look over to him, his chest rising and falling in the T.V. lit room, and I am absolutely undone. It is such a gift to have such a sacred space with someone that I love so greatly. To have someone who works so physically hard for our family. And I've never been so proud. I love you babe and am so thankful to have such a hard-working man like you.
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