Lucky Number Seven

It’s been seven years since I stepped into the sunlight on an unusually blistering afternoon in May wearing a white dress that weighed what felt like 20 pounds.

Seven years since we said “I Do” in front of friends and family and then ate cake and drank punch and drove off toward our shared future.

I spent the weekend writing this post in my head. Turning over the words I would say to explain what it means to have spent seven years together.

I wanted to sit down yesterday, our actual anniversary, and write down all the thoughts I have about this life we’ve built. But because our life has grown more full and busy–and because I’m a master procrastinator and also chronically in search of a nap–here this is. A day late.

(Truth be told, getting last year’s post together was just as difficult. That’s our life now.)

Some people talk about seven years as being a proving ground for relationships. They talk about the “seven year itch” as being the time when couples decide they’re not in it for the long haul anymore and so one of them leaves or they part ways.

We’re not that couple.

We’ve survived a lot in seven years. A kitchen remodel and two bathroom renovations. New jobs.

We’ve vacationed and we’ve staycationed.

We’ve weathered storms of both the Mother Nature and marital varieties.

We’ve given life to two beautiful children who are the sum total of all the good parts of both of us. And some of the bad parts of us, too. (I’m looking at you, bossy and stubborn traits.) Without a doubt, Joshua and Emma are the best things to come out of this partnership of ours.

In seven years we’ve had our share of arguments. But then we’ve gotten over them. Usually because Dan does something that makes me laugh and I have trouble staying mad when I’m laughing.

But even when that hasn’t worked, when we’ve needed time, we’ve still moved forward. Because we’re in this together.

Life is better with you by my side.

Happy 7 years, babe. Here’s to 70 more.