For the first time since she was born, both my husband and I went out of the apartment and did something. At the same time. Together. It was kind of weird.
Owing to the weekend visit of an obliging grandmother, we decided to take a couple hours right after my husband got dinner ready and go out and do “something.” We couldn’t really think of what, but damn it, we were going to do it. And I was going to wear some freaking high heels.
Right after we left, my husband remarked that it felt like we’d left something important at home. I really know that feeling because any time I go out without my daughter, I feel completely like I’m off the grid.
We ended up drinking wine and eating Portugese cheeses and beignets. It was nice. I kept my glass at the edge of the table all night just because I could. Nothing was dropped on the floor, nothing was dripped on my shirt, no one said “please don’t spit that out.”
It was pleasant, slightly surreal, and very overdue. We talked about our daughter nearly the entire time, even with the waiter. And when we got home, she could acted like we’d been there the whole time.
As it should be.
It was twelve years ago today that my husband first told me he loved me. He doesn’t remember this, probably, but I do. I remember what room of his apartment I was in, that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blanket on the bed, that I totally didn’t expect it but that it made me laugh.
I don’t remember the weather or what happened after that. Sometimes my memory is like that. But I am glad I remember that moment. Of course, it was a pretty tardy “I love you,” if you ask me. But I know how hard it was for him to say, so it was significant.
I remember my wedding pretty well, it was in 2005. If you ask me when our anniversary is, I will give you that date. But if you ask me when we started being together, I always think of January 5th, 2000 and then immediately backtrack and say that we were really dating before then but neither of us really thought of it that way.
Which isn’t true, because I did. I think I knew I’d marry this guy maybe 5 months after I met him. It’s weird. I had a flash one day as we were walking out of our dorm building. The rest was just details.
Happy Real Anniversary, Lovie.
My husband: “What, is this movie, ‘New Year’s Eve,’ brought to us by the ‘Valentine’s Day’ people?”
Me: “Yes, I think so.”
Me: “I guess ‘Independence Day’ was already taken. I wonder what’s next?”
My husband: “President’s Day.”
Me: “Yeah, it would be about people shopping for mattresses and sofas.”
My husband: “And used cars.”
Me: “There’d be different couples running all over town trying to find some great deal, but they would keep JUST missing each other at the stores. And in the end, you’d realize they were all connected. But no one would get a new mattress.”
My husband: “This is an awesome idea. You are brillant and I worship the delightful and hilarious workings of your mind.”
Okay, he didn’t really say that.