Steven.

I hardly ever call Steve "Steve" to his face, which is sort of strange I guess, because in my mind I think of us as "Jamie and Steve" and to other people--family, friends, and brand new acquaintances--I call him Steve.

But to his face I call him other things. As far as his real name (or close to it), I sometimes call him Stever (an inside joke) or Steven, more often Birch (his middle name), especially when I am feeling really desperately in need of him. (He has heard me call out, or whimper, "Birch!" many times  this past month from my first-trimester hangout of the bathroom floor in front of the toilet.) That name is for sweetness or for sorrow; I'm pretty sure I call him Birch through my tears when I am feeling utterly broken by something that requires a wonderfully long husband hug to help it mend.

And I call him nicknames, too, pet names like Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, Love, and some other sillier mushier ones that our kids can tell you when they get old enough to tattle. I think this combination of names is one of the reasons that Gracie has yet to figure out that Mommy and Daddy aren't our full-time names.

The more entrenched I get in my grown-up roles of mother and wife, the more delightful and magical I find both of them to be. I am so thankful for moments spent with Gracie's head on my shoulder (on an air mattress in our almost empty apartment this morning) and for laughing with Steve as we quote The Office to each other. Maybe that seems childish or not worthwhile, that we watch enough TV together to be able to speak in quotes, but I feel like that is just part of the "best friend" part of our marriage. I love him, and there is literally no one in the entire world I would rather be with at all times.

In our little family, when someone is scared or sad or worried--Gracie, Steve, or myself all included--one of us will give that someone a hug and simply say, "I've got you." I don't know when that started, but I can think of many times in our first apartment when Steve would hold me and tell me just that, and I knew that he really did. And that meant I was safe.

This month has been hard on me. I like to be productive, I like to be busy, and I like to take care of my sweethearts. And this month I got to do little of any of those (unless you count the physical baby-growing, which is technically taking care of sweetheart #3, but at the cost of time once spent with numbers 1 and 2). It was rough. Steve had finals. He had to pack up the whole apartment himself (and he did a stellar job, by the way). He had to organize anything that needed organized, make countless trips to grocery stores and restaurants, do CPE, get Gracie up and fed in the morning, and take care of me. And he did, so sweetly and patiently and beautifully.

But the things that have caught me off guard in the past few weeks have been so small, and it is the very detail of them that shook me up--because this man who I adore loves me, truly and deeply. I don't know why it has taken me this long to understand or comprehend so fully, but it is sort of thrilling to think that we can keep discovering one another for our whole lives. And it was these two things, most recently, in the company of dozens and dozens of others:

He remembered my favorite brand of cheese, and looked for it, when I only wrote "cheddar" on his grocery list. I never buy it for myself, and I'm sure we've only talked about it a couple times. But that was what he looked for when I had a cheese craving. Tillamook cheddar.

He packed all the books in our bookcase by color, and labeled the boxes with "Books" and the color, because I have been shelving them that way. I didn't ask him to, and it took extra time that he really didn't have because he put the whole place in boxes in a matter of days.

I know those things seem inconsequential, but that, my friend, is why they are so important. It's easy, I think, to make a grand gesture once or twice a year, but to be consistently patient, concerned, and thoughtful... That is romantic.

Thank goodness for this man. I love him forever and back again.