Today Hubby and I have been married for nine years!
Look at what little babies we used to be…
Seriously, who are these people that faintly resemble us?
Singing to Hubby at our wedding. Speaking of babies, those little girls? They’re all in high school…and the oldest graduated last week.
I’m going to go cry now.
During the thousand years we dated, and especially during the last year when we were engaged, I heard over and over again, ‘The first year is the hardest’. If I wasn’t receiving a warning of that, I was being given a prophesy of probable years of hatred that we would experience towards one another. As if going through a year where you hate your spouse is completely normal and acceptable.
I know nine years isn’t the whopping fifty my grandparents reached before Pop passed, or the notable forty my parents will celebrate this year, but I think it is enough to be able to say that all the naysayers were wrong–at least in the case of our relationship.
Sure, there have been days we have driven each other crazy. But Love has been felt at the end of each and every single day. When I look over the past nine years, I don’t see hate, or frustration, or disappointment.
Maybe it is because we were friends first, or maybe it is because we fell in love when we were young and stupid, but there isn’t a moment in the last nine years I would change.
And I know it’s cliche, but every single day that passes, I love this man more than I did the day before. I am infinitely blessed to have been an exception to the expectations of marriage that many placed before me.
*Note: In case you didn’t realize, the title of this post is to be read in the most sarcastic voice possible.