It looks like making French Toast Croissants together in our pyjamas on a Sunday morning. Then watching Sunday Brunch or perhaps something on Netflix.
It looks like fussing and cuddling and fawning over Luna. Even when she tries to wake us up in the middle of the night when she wants strokes.
It looks like staying up and waiting for you to finish your dumb X-Box games as I can’t sleep without having you to fall asleep on.
It looks like you bringing me hot water bottles whenever I am ill. And you seeing right through me when I pretend I am ill, just to get out of doing something.
It looks like us cooking together, you chopping and me putting it all together.
It looks light fighting whose turn it is to do the washing up or fights over who washes and who dries. I prefer washing, as you get bubbles everywhere.
It looks like you not knowing where the laundry goes, even though I have shown you that the flannels live there and not there.
It looks like a quick dash to the Co-Op as we’ve forgotten to top up the gas again.
It looks like box set binges on the sofa, with snacks. Crisps for you, chocolate for me.
It looks like fights that don’t last too long, as we have grown up now we live together and we are working on being a family.