There's a love song that's sung in our home.
It's wordless and tuneless. A constant beat, flowing through my life, pouring out of Mr Accident and straight into my heart.
I find stanzas dropped in the bathroom, where I see that the newly washed nappies have been hung up to dry.
I find a note or two in the bathroom, when my electric toothbrush has mysteriously been put on to charge.
There's pages and pages of music in the kitchen, when I am feeling sick and dinner appears on the table.
I hear it when he makes me a lemon and honey tea for my sore throat. I hear it when he rubs Bug's sleepy back. It's there when the chooks are let out on an icy morning.
I don't know if he realises the effect it has on me. I walk around my home and see all the things he has done - the thousands of little expressions of love and service - and it's like walking around in a constant gentle hug.
My friends tease us as "the newlyweds". We've been together eight years, but I still get that same old flutter when I hear him at the door.
I hope my actions show him my love, as much as his do to me. I know I'm guilty of spending "five minutes more" on the internet, of ducking a hug when there's dinner to be made, or begging out of sitting for a bath-side chat when I think there is something more important to be done. More important? Who am I kidding?
Mr A, my darling: I will do better. I will try to sing for you the way you do for me. I suspect my first verse will be entitled "cookies". You're welcome. ;)