The day after L. was born, a kind and amazing nurse gave us a happy anniversary card. Inside it she wrote, Get used to the little guy always coming first because, of course, our wedding anniversary celebration will always pale in comparison to the other kind of anniversary celebration that comes the day before. I like the fact that L. was born the day before our wedding anniversary. I like thinking back to my wedding day and realizing how I never even imagined that I'd almost share that day with my first child.
The other day I went into a store and browsed for anniversary cards, but left empty-handed. The cards were either too giddy, too mushy, too over-the-top corny, or they were dull and plodding and ordinary cards designed with the much older couple in mind (Wait! Are we the older couple now?)--although why those needed to be dull and plodding and ordinary, I don't know. Scott and I are celebrating fifteen years of marriage today. If the number eleven makes me wince a little when I say it to myself, fifteen sounds gloriously huge as a number. Yet despite how lucky I feel, how happy I feel to be here at fifteen, I find that I don't have anything earth-shatteringly wise to say about it. Fifteen is good . FIfteen is strong and a little weathered around the edges but still burning bright, I think--the kind of warm, steady glow that you just don't doubt. Fifteen makes me feel safe and protected, like I'm standing under a tree that has put down strong and beautiful roots.
Fifteen is everything fourteen wasn't, because it's one year greater, one year bigger and grander than the last.