Happy Anniversary
Yesterday was my eighth wedding anniversary.
This is not the man I thought I was marrying. The guy I thought I was marrying was a rough, tough, hammer-swinging, tattooed-and-earringed bad boy. I thought the sun rose in his eyes, and wasn’t terribly concerned about the rest.
Things change, with time. If you’re lucky and you’ve chosen really, really well, you change for the better, together. Goodness knows I’ve covered a lot of ground in the last eight years. I’m certainly not the person he married either; that girl was not a mother, not a wife, not a lot of other things I consider myself to be, now.
It seems like no time has passed. It seems like it’s been far more than a scant 8 years. It’s had high highs and low lows and the only thing I can say with absolute, utter certainty, is that I am more madly in love with him than I was back then, and that’s saying a whole lot, since the smitten level was pretty high at the beginning.
So here’s to eight years, m’love, and another eight, and another, and another. Let’s see what happens next…