Mawwiage (Princess Bride, anyone?)
Eight years ago, I woke up, put on a fancy dress and opened the door to a new life.
Andrew and I were 21 years old when we got married.
There were the naysayers. The folks who, for whatever reason, felt the need to inform us that we were in fact too young to get married. The folks who relished telling the story of so-and-so who married young and within a few years were divorced/bankrupt/eaten by a pack of wolves.
But the people who truly mattered… they gave us their full support.
So we started the story of us surrounded by love.
That’s not to say the wedding day went off without a hitch. It didn’t. In true sitcom fashion, there was an afternoon rain, a hairstylist who literally turned my hair into a shellacked helmet (don’t get me started…), humidity thick enough to balance a plate on, a photographer who disappeared right after the reception began, missing tablecloths, and a delivery of half-dead flowers that resulted in a last-minute run to the store to complete the bouquets.
But that cliche thing that everyone tells you? It’s true – I have indeed laughed about all of this many times since.
Except for the helmet head – I still eye hairspray warily.
In the end, my most distinct memory of that day is the excitement of beginning, of stepping out into an unknown world with my best friend, fully prepared for whatever it may bring.
We were young, yes. But naive, no. We loved deeply, and that love has only grown.
Marriage is a complex, crazy beast. You share all of you with another person and visa versa. You, in all your imperfect glory, are fully on display.
You share the days of beauty and joy. You share the silly moments of belting out 80s songs in the kitchen, of cracking jokes that only the two of you would ever think of finding funny. But you also share the days of frustration and petty annoyances and sadness. You argue over dishes. You sigh in irritation when no one can make a decision about dinner (for the umpteenth time…). You wonder why it’s necessary to check the NC State baseball score every 3.5 minutes. Sometimes, you just act like a total turd.
And the incredible, amazing thing?
You are inexplicably loved, forgiven and valued all at once. You are still partners in every sense of the word.
In eight years of marriage, Andrew and I have grown into ourselves and into we.
The days of newness and mystery may have faded – but they’ve grown into something more.
Eight years of building a life together have given so many shades of meaning to a smile, a glance, a touch. Eight years of uncontrollable laughter, tears (happy and sad), romance, arguments, optimism, burned biscuits, dancing like fools, necessary silliness and honest-to-goodness challenges have built something beautiful.
Andrew, I am beyond proud to be your wife, your partner. I couldn’t ask for anything more than to grow old with you.
Happy Anniversary ♥