The last day of March is officially over, and the night is falling as I watch tv with my little one.

We’re sharing a chocolate bar as I wait for the birthday boy to return from the nightly doggie duties, and I look back over another one of his birthdays.

Little did I realize the first time I met him just what he would mean to me. We started as colleagues, then became friends.

Then one day, I knew that our relationship would end one of two ways- marriage, or heartbreak.

It came like a bolt from heaven, absolutely without warning, even though in retrospect it was clear that we had first fallen into friendship, then love.

I’d never really believed in love at first sight, being a practical sort. I did however, hide my love of romance novels due to three brothers who liked to tease.

But here I was, the heroine of my own story. It was so easy, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. I’d watched as so many of my friends had dramatic and deeply passionate relationships play out in public, and this was nothing like that.

This was warmth, and contentment, and most of all, a feeling of homecoming. It felt right, and it was.

We met almost ten years ago now. Together we’ve moved houses and provinces, changed careers and interests.

We’ve had four children, and supported each other’s passions, and been each other’s best friend and sounding board.

And today, on the anniversary of his birth, I once again thank my lucky stars that we found each other.

Happy birthday love.

And many more