That night we drove across the bay. I packed a breast pump and a fake id. I thought I should probably drink wine on my honeymoon.
We learned that grown ups stay in with sick kids while their friends go see shows. We've learned that grown ups pay their bills, and they have to not lose important papers. We've learned that sometimes grown ups get bored, and that there is more to life than just being excited.
There was a time before I learned some things I needed to know that I couldn't watch the indie romantic-comedies that have always been my favorite. I was jealous of all the people who were falling in love. I was sad that I was never supposed to do that again. I got mad at Jane Austen and Edith Wharton and all those writers who wrote about women whose only decision in life was deciding who to marry. I had already made that decision, or rather it had been made for me, and the rest of my life seemed to be a giant forgone conclusion.
Ten years later we're standing back in front of the tree three days after we celebrated our anniversary alone, at home, all four of our children away at Oma's house. We grilled grass fed steaks and roasted asparagus and got tipsy while talking about truth, lies, fiction, and gratitude. I was convinced that every thought needed to be
It feels like it was yesterday. It feels like it has been an eternity.