I was pulling the laundry out of the dryer this morning, careful of my stretching, third-trimester baby belly while the two-year-old entertained herself in the living room. Pete came into the kitchen on his way out to work - "Happy anniversary..."
And we laughed because we'd both forgotten, and wasn't it wonderful?
Four years ago today, I woke thankful for sunlight after a week of rain. Pete sneaked in that morning to pick up his cell phone, forgotten the night before after he'd said good night. I stayed in bed, thinking of my surprise for him, my song, my vow. He came to hug me before he left again for his groom-preparation.
Four years ago today, he came back into my room after everyone had cleared, and I was in my wedding dress, a little unsure of my hairstyle and the uncoverable zit in the center of my forehead. He was like a little boy; I was too shy - we were way too young to be doing this.
We descended the stairs to the yard where everyone was waiting for pictures. I laughed too loud, tried to be comfortable in front of the camera, tried to help Pete in. It was best when he laughed too.
Then it was over, my song had been sung, our vows had been made official, the dancing had stirred up enough old dust to give me an asthma attack that held me still. We climbed into the car, decorated by his mom (because our groomsmen were all too stuck-in-the-mud to have thought of that) and looked at one another as we drove away: "What did we just do?"
After four years, I think we still ask that question, but you know, I think it's the question that makes our "just another days" special. Yeah, I'm still not ready to be the wife and mom I thought I'd be; he still gets little-boy-giddy over fencing, over seeing me in a pretty dress. And it's not getting old yet. There's nobody else I'd rather spend my life with.
So here's to a few more years of wonder. I think fifty or sixty would be about right for me. I'm a slow learner.
Besides, he's promised some wonderful nursing home pranks.
(Image © Bob Updegrove Photography)