In the early days of our courtship and marriage, I'd have to say I really enjoyed Joseph's Greek God physique, complete with his full head of blonde hair, his dimples, rippling abs and the absence of snoring. I loved that he would find peach colored roses for me on our anniversaries, as beautiful and sentimental as the fresh ones I held in my wedding bouquet. But fast forward 12 years, 50 pounds (I'm rounding...get it?) and four children. What raises my estrogen levels these days? I'm betting it's what endears most other women to the father of their children.
I love it when my husband doesn't desert me after he clears his dinner plate. I love it when the man has soap suds on his hands. I get endeared when I see him passing the sacrament or conducting a meeting. I get twitterpated when I see him wrestling the kids after work and bonding with them. I get sweaty hands and a racing heartbeat when I hear him accurately name each of Emma's dolls. What got me really goin' last weekend, ahem, was when he came home from work and while I was preparing dinner, he quietly scrubed all 3 toilets in the house. WITHOUT BEING ASKED! AND THE GUY WAS SICK! AND IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT! He amazes me. So the secret to intimate longevity? My man knows how to be tender with his children and he helps me around the house. That's what does it for me, ladies. His Greek God girth is a wee bit wider than it was in the days of '97, and my profile now resembles Mrs. Doubtfire, and the guy's snoring could put Iran into a hostile fire frenzy, but we bond deeper than that. And honestly, I don't know what I do or not do that gets his engine revving. (After all, men are wired differently), but in the end, the greatest aphrodisiac, for me, I would have to say is time. And thank heaven, he gives it. Bottom line: a man with a spatula in his hand does more for a girl's libido than a Sports Illustrated physique. Trust me.