The early morning stillness is broken by the alarm. The talk-radio he so likes pulls me out of my sleep into a semi-conscious state of dreams. When he gets up my body rolls over, eager to feel the remainder of his warmth, to breath in the air on his pillow. And when he comes to kiss me goodbye, I smile, knowing that he is mine, that I am his, that we are ours.
Sunday will mark six years of marriage for my husband and I. My mind plays dreamy scenes of the day, sunny but brisk, a day full of smiles and tears, laughter, and most of all love. How even with the hundreds of photos snapped not one smile felt forced or fake. The feel of his hand in mine, the newness of the ring on his finger.
The certainty I felt that day as I looked down the aisle at him waiting for me. The certainty I still feel today.
He is many things to me, my husband. A sweet and giddy crush, an honest and caring man, a support for all my ups and downs, a loving and involved father, a faithful and giving husband. The life I share with him is not something I could ever have dreamed up, the rightness of it all, the way we fit together our two lives into one.
And every day, every morning, is a reminder that what we have together, our life, with each other and with our girls, is exactly where we are supposed to be. From that chance meeting ten years ago, to our wedding six years ago, to today.
Happy Anniversary, Adam!