Three Years


Three years of marriage.

I was about 15 weeks pregnant and you could neither see nor tell. We didn’t have the money or the time to spend frivolously. We knew we had to keep it simple, and we did. It wouldn’t be Paris. But that was okay because we got to be together.

We had lunch in Baltimore where Chris got me tots (!!!!), then drove to Annapolis where we explored away the afternoon. We stopped for some fro-yo, then spent the evening in a hotel on the bay. We went out to eat, we went out to coffee the next morning, we sat on the dock and enjoyed the bright, warm sunshine. It was wonderful, as everything is with him.







I was still nauseous at the time, but I didn’t want to drive anymore. I was ecstatic to discover a pair of sea bands in my bag which meant I’d be able to be a passenger without throwing up!







So Chris became the driver!




And we arrived at the hotel. Just a basic hotel, but the view was outstanding. I couldn’t keep away from it. We got there just as the sun was setting.









And the next morning it was just as stunning, the water a mirror to the brightest sky.





I could’ve sat on that dock forever, the little fish and frogs and crabs beneath my feet, the warm sun on my back. It was a perfect day.






When we were three weeks old, you whispered “I love you” on the way out my door, swiftly, swinging around before the screen door could close between us, as you leaned in to kiss me. That was the first time and everyone else would’ve said it was too soon, but we both knew. We’d both known. Chills of joy vibrated through me. There was a good chance that the timing of our connection was enough of a mistake to leave dark, angry bruises, but in that moment we’d decided we didn’t care.  

When we were three months old I sat in my dormitory bed, up in a tower that felt a mile high and a million miles away from where I wanted to be. The parking lot and campus of my college spread out below me and I stared at it blankly, not taking it in. In those first months at school, time seemed bleak and endless like the vast expanse of land between us. I did not see beauty in it. I feared it.

I have a bad habit of applying clouds to any sky above me. I rarely tolerate an overly positive forecast from anyone. Let’s be realistic with our expectations, I say. But you have always been the only exception. 

When we were three years old we celebrated our time together by touring our own hometown. You swung me around on an adventure first to the farmer’s market, then to the park, then out to our first fancy dinner. We filled the day with laughter and photos and exploration. The sun was so bright that day, the air so warm. You bought me a little pillow that was a dark, greyish blue with a bright orange sun on the front. I loved it- it matched my dormitory decor, it matched me, it matched you.

Today, almost ten years later, we are nearly thirteen years old. Three years have passed since our perfect little wedding day. We worried it would rain but the rain decided to come the day before and left us before we woke, a bright sun taking its place. We were hot and we were dizzy but we were together. We were calling this thing what it always was, what we’d always known it would be: forever.

That dumb little pillow sits beside me now as I write this, worn completely out and covered in pet hair, out of place in this not-quite-a-college-dorm living room of our new house. Who knows how long it will last before we lose it or one of our kids spills something all over it and we decide to toss it. Such is life, and it’s just an object after all. But I wanted you to know that you got it perfect: to my cloudy skies, you always were, you still are, and you will always be my sun. 

I love you, boy. 

-your girl


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