Eight. Years. We've been married eight years, Old Man River. EIGHT.
You learn a lot about a person in eight years--add in two significant moves in nine months, an amazing daughter who gets out fifty thousand words by breakfast, two failed pregnancies, the death of a dog and the challenges of a puppy, and you learn even more. For instance, I am not the cool, collected thinker I pretend to be. It's panic, right out of the gates, every time. Sorry about that, River. On the flip side, thanks for knowing how to calm me down when I hit def-con one over what shirt to wear in the morning.
In our 2,920 days together, I've learned a lot about me, and you--I've learned a lot about us. Here are the most important eight:
1. I must wake up before you. Even lovers as romantic and adoring of one another as us need alone time. Those 45-60 minutes in the morning are mine.
2. You have to eat on the regular, no arguments. A hangry Old Man River is a useless one (and kind of a bitchy one).
3. We created the world's greatest formula for coffee; a 1 to 1 plus 2 ratio that produces coffee to make me fall in love with you all over again.
4. We are both the youngest; therefore, decisions will be slow to be made, and the easiest route will usually be the one we travel.
5. We are going to rock as old people. Seriously, the early bird special is our JAM. Dinner at 4:45, bed at 7:30? We got that shit on lockdown.
6. Laughter is our way through everything. Fights? Heartache? A bad choice to go camping? Laugh about it. All of it. And move on.
7. It's true love. Know how I know? We work together, live together, vacation together, and I still want to see you the next day.
8. We are the family I always dreamed of.
Thanks for the fairytale, River, even the parts that aren't glamorous. Love you long time.