On the fifth.
Happy Fifth Anniversary to you, my amazing husband.
You are a wonderful provider, earnest, hard working, and a loving father to Z, your female doppleganger.
This hasn’t been an easy journey. We’ve already had more than our fair share of keeping it together through the “sickness” part of the vows. We’ve experienced disappointment and deaths, and surprising strains on friendships.
But the gains surpass them all. With our marriage, I was blessed with another mom and dad. I have been introduced to a world of technology I hardly knew existed. I’ve tried new foods, made new friends (what up, Tariq!) and laughed myself silly.
Through you, I’ve seen just how selfish I had become as a single woman. My past flourishes of vanity (seriously) horrify me now. I paid lip service to not being hung up on my appearance, but when confronted with weight gain, pregnancy, illness and even my own natural hair, I blew up. I screamed, cried or alternately, remained silently fuming. You remained, though, by my side. Or sometimes behind, baring me up. Other times, a few steps ahead, dragging me forward while I sought to retreat.
You laugh at my quirks, like that Andy Warhol documentary you caught me watching a few days ago. You look at my paintings as if they are Warhol pieces.
“We don’t dance,” I told your dad last month, referring to the fact that we’ve never actually danced together for an entire song. We do, though, don’t we? Sometimes, awkwardly, even disjointed, other times, in step.
The dance is our journey.
May it never end.
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