Smiling Mom

I think we did it right. We were friends first, like best of friends, for more than a year before we ever star­ted dating. We knew everything about each other. Too much, if you ask me. But we were armed with infor­ma­tion and a deep res­pect for each other before ever begin­ning our relationship.

The first time you told me you loved me we were still friends. I was up visi­ting you from out of town and we were just han­ging out having a, like, four hour con­ver­sa­tion. It was dark and we were laying beside each other. There was a pause in the con­ver­sa­tion. Your arm was under my head and my head on your shoul­der. (Just friends, right!)

You said, “Don’t say anything, OK?”

I obli­ged

You said, “I love you.”

I obli­ged, saying nothing. But my heart defied my mouth as it beat out of my chest.

What was hap­pe­ning? I could not unders­tand this fee­ling. Deep res­pect? No. Friendship? No.

Love, deep, deep love. Yes.

I obli­ged, and didn’t say anything. Neither did you. I grab­bed your other arm and wrap­ped it around my sto­mach. We sta­yed there spoo­ning for what see­med like fore­ver, in silence. Fee­ling the moment. The emo­tion in the room-it was palpable.

Finally, brea­king the silence, I said, “I love you too.”

Friends. Right. That moment chan­ged everything. What was just a friendship took a dee­per change, one that I never saw coming. Ever­yone else did, but I didn’t.

Later you men­tio­ned that you were so afraid after telling me you loved me, because of the silence. Little did you know how much I felt the love from you and how much I was willing to reci­pro­cate it.

Little did you know!

And little did I know that the love I felt was just the tip of the iceberg.

Do you know what I like the most about you? The way you look at me. You know the look, the one that cuts through me like a hot knife through butter.

You drive me crazy, infu­riate me, make my knees wobbly, make me feel safe, yet off balance. But most of all you make me feel like I am in route to achie­ving my pur­pose here in life.

I want to be the best part­ner I pos­sibly can be to you. I bitch, cry, moan, and nag.  Des­pite my short­co­mings you should know I am proud to be the woman stan­ding next to you, all the time.

One dog, two chil­dren, three tat­toos, four (of your) eye­brow hairs always out of place, and five years of marriage.

Happy 5^th anni­ver­sary, here’s to 60 more!