Today is our first wedding anniversary. Since we pledged ourselves to each other a year ago today, we have lived a single shared life to an extent that I never believed possible. How can you be this close to, this involved with, this into someone without getting in each other’s way? And yet that’s exactly what we’ve done, and continue to do. We are as up in each other’s business as I’ve ever been with anyone, and yet we don’t fight. We rarely even come within earshot of conflict. We just talk. Constantly. And somehow that makes everything possible.
Talking is magical. And by “talking” I mean not only real-time synchronous verbal communication, but constant email, texting, mindreading and the myriad other ways we connect with each other. Seriously. Magical. We go beyond finishing each other’s sentences and actually articulate each other’s thoughts. That this is humanly possible, that a partnership with another person can be so thoroughly fulfilling and satisfying, blew my tiny mind a year ago. It still does.
Historically I’ve always valued space in a relationship. Now I wonder if that was just because I didn’t enjoy being close to the other person. With &, even after eighteen months of dating and a year of marriage, I’ve never once felt crowded or imposed-upon. He assures me that neither has he. We go about our business unrestricted, always together and always in step, whether we’re both in different states doing different things or sitting in the living room reading with the TV on.
Our incessant communication stream has survived some damn busy times. In the past year, & has started a new job and made great forward progress in the Cathedral visitor services program. (Right now he’s working on a new course he’ll be teaching there in months to come — stay tuned for more info.) I’ve continued to plow onward in my thoroughly taxing day job, as well as “working” enormous amounts of time as an amateur singer. We’ve traveled together to New York, Boston, Chicago, California, England and France. And of course, we’ve made a baby.
I’m not sure which of us is more excited to meet Mayhem. & has been the ideal expectant father, enterprising in his preparation and planning, consistently solicitous of me and my delicate condition. He plans everything — our babymoon, my shower, our nursery, our family leave strategy. He cooks dinner, schedules the cleaning lady, brings me gelato on a near-daily basis. He booked us into childbirth class and does much of the homework himself, including the research to debunk our Bradley instructor’s more ridiculous claims. (Caffeine causes birth defects? Riiiiight.) Whether I’ve been leveled by first-trimester exhaustion. Hugecase-related job stress, or the marathon rehearsal schedule leading up to a Carnegie Hall performance, I have always been able to count on &’s energy, initiative, support and constant reassuring presence. Without exception, he has my back in everything I do.
“You could not make me any happier,” I tell him regularly, “and yet every day you somehow manage to.”
I am the luckiest woman I know. And I can’t wait to see how much fun we’ll have for the rest of our lives.