Anniversary

As of today, I've been married for two years. Not a long time, I know. But I love to reflect on my life with my husband at special times like this. You see, we may have only been married for two years, but we've known each other for nearly nine. I met my husband when he was only 15; I was 17. And our story--I think--is rather unique.

We met at church and was quickly thrown together by a very cliquish youth group. The guys ran around showing off their tans and football prowess, while the girls talked non-stop about getting manicures and shopping at American Eagle. Being the fashion pariah of the bookworm world that I was--let alone of the preppy beachcomber-wannabe set--I was bored out of my mind at every youth service. And since my husband cared neither for tans nor football, we eventually gravitated toward each other. (He was also wickedly intelligent, which I found incredibly attractive. At 15, he ran the sound equipment for the church's adult services and youth services. He was more skilled at it than adults twice his age.)

We started a friendship that lasted for three years. I soon fell in love with him, but my husband proved to be a tougher nut to crack. At any mention of my feelings, he would avoid me--sometimes for weeks. The turning point came when an old boyfriend (whom I liked) came back into my life with marriage on his mind. Although I ended up telling my ex that I couldn't be with him because I was in love with somebody else, the incident proved to be just the wake-up call my husband needed. Two months later, we officially became a couple.

We dated for over three years, and in that time our relationship went though the fire. Eight months after finally snagging the man of my dreams, I said goodbye to him and boarded a plane to Japan to spend a year in a study abroad program. About a month after I returned, his father suffered a brain aneurysm that rendered him disabled for three years. (A man who had worked for years as a computer programmer now could not drive his own car.) Right as we began planning our wedding, our church split. We had to ask a minister from another denomination to perform the ceremony almost at the last minute. In order to help pay for the wedding, my husband worked two retail jobs for a while--one during the day, the other at night. He survived on caffeine pills and soda. I also took a retail job, despite just having earned my college degree, because I couldn't find any other work. By the time we were finally wed, we were both physically and emotionally drained. Our ages at the time of marriage: 21 and 24.

The fun didn't stop there. We had no money, so we took up residence with his parents. Two months after our wedding, my husband joined the Navy. Four months later, he left for boot camp. After graduating, he flew home, packed up our stuff, and we moved 800 miles away from our families. The week before the move, I came down with a severe upper respiratory infection. I was terribly sick for over a month. But the toughest ordeal was yet to come: a year ago this August, a major stroke took my father-in-law's life. Thankfully, we were able to spend his last two days with him and attend his funeral.

This is not what I intended to write. Last night, I bought my husband an anniversary card talking about how I remember our first kiss, the first time we held hands, etc. I do remember...in amazing detail. That's what I set out to write, because when I think about all the hardships we have endured together, that's what I recall--the joys of our life together. However, I suppose it's never too late to recount some joys.

First time we held hands: We were watching the first Lord of the Rings movie in theaters. The big flaming Eye of Sauron freaked me out.

First "I love you": December 31, 2003. He gave me a romantic greeting card at a New Year's party I was hosting for my friends. Inside the card he had written "This card pretty much says it all, except 'I love you.'" The gesture was extra special because he never wrote notes. Ever.

First kiss: January 4, 2004. We were standing in his driveway at night in the rain. That was the night we officially started dating.

First time he made me feel proud: I received one of two highly competitive scholarships at the start of my senior year in college. We attended a banquet where the winners were to be announced. He told me not to get my hopes up. After my name was called, he said he wouldn't doubt my abilities again.

Wedding day: August 4, 2007. My husband forgot to bring the marriage license to the ceremony. It was eventually located in his bedroom at the bottom of his laundry basket. (Don't ask.) A good time was had by all.

Last photograph: You're looking at it. (Yes, the skinny chic with the non-existent butt is me. That handsome fellow I'm hugging is my husband. Now you know what I look like.) The picture was taken two weeks ago when we visited Middleton Place Plantation in Charleston, SC. If you've never been, it's a gorgeous place. If you go, take bug repellent.

Thanks for reading.

Pregnancy Rules for Men

I thought this would be fun and entertaining to write.

Rule 1: Personal hygiene is now more important than when we were dating. Snogging me with your dragon breath is all fun and games until somebody (i.e. me) ends up making obeisance before the porcelain throne. Same goes for hugging me after sweating at work for 12 hours.

Rule 2: Due to constant fluctuations in hormone levels, my body may have trouble responding in bed. Frantically "priming the pump" is not the answer. Doing so will only make me sore in one of the few places that so far doesn't ache when I sit down. If it's not happening, it's not happening. Just carry on as usual.

Rule 3: I reserve the right to call upon your services as an exterminator at any time. Pregnancy has increased my squeamishness toward creepy-crawlies. With a quarter of my body weight now jutting out in front of me, my center of balance has changed, making me slow and clumsy. Michael Moore could probably outrun me at this point. So what chance do I stand against something with six or more legs? None. Chances are that it will get away, leaving me to wonder when and where it will surprise me next. Telling me to kill it myself in order to "toughen me up" is not amusing. I'm already dealing with the trials and tribulations of bearing your love child. That alone makes me tougher than a coffin nail.

Rule 4: Please flush the toilet regularly. You never know when I'll have to stick my face in it.

Rule 5: Household responsibilities may be added to your list of chores with little or no advance notice. Sorry, but with my bloodhound nose and weak stomach, simple tasks like loading the dishwasher or handling dirty clothes could be considered hazardous to my equilibrium.

Rule 6: Making cute comments about the baby increases your sexiness exponentially. It reminds me that I made the right decision by marrying you, which helps when I'm feeling monstrous.

Rule 7: I need your love and understanding now more than ever. For an explanation, see rules 1 through 5.

Rule 8: Always remember that I love you more than anything or anyone else on this planet. Otherwise, I wouldn't be having your baby.

Week 16

I'm starting to look voluptuous. Really, really voluptuous. I walked past a reflective surface last night and gasped. My belly has drawn nearly even with my boobs, and I have the kind of cleavage I only dreamed about having when I was 13 and still painfully flat-chested. The only thing that has yet to make an appearance is my butt, which stubbornly refuses to grow with the rest of me. Keeping my pants up is often a challenge as my waistline expands to dimensions hitherto unknown.

At least my underwear still fit. (I know. TMI, right?)

In spite of everything, though, I think I look pretty good--once I'm cleaned up and have my earrings in, of course.

Oh, yeah. Last week when I became ungodly sick, it seems I contracted some sort of sinus-related viral infection. Five steps out of bed, and I'm coughing like an old man. (So much for being voluptuous.) Thankfully, I'm feeling better now in spite of everything. Still sleeping quite a bit, but I'm getting to where I can function again. I actually managed to cook dinner last night. Practically a miracle!

Now I'm just waiting for my next OB appointment on Monday. I haven't seen (or heard) my baby for a whole month, and I'm anxious to see if it is OK after all the meds I have taken to keep me from drowning in my own mucus. Also, my doctor is going to submit the paperwork for the BIG ultrasound that will be done at the end of the month to determine the baby's gender. For the past three weeks, my husband has asked every other day when we will go "look for penises." Too cute! I told him it would be a little disturbing if we found more than one penis on the same baby. A friend suggested that a boy might be happy to have more than one. Maybe so, but they would make changing his diapers twice as dangerous!