Last night as Otto and I lay in bed talking, I knew today would be a special day. What I did NOT know, at that point, was that it would start with me finding a small waterfall underneath my sink. That was… rather more special than I had anticipated. (And by “more special” I mean “especially sucktastic.”) Nevertheless, that faucet has leaked (the actual faucet part, not the pipes) ever since we moved in, and I have been ignoring it, and I guess at some point last night it just snapped and went all Glenn Close on me (“I’m not going to be IGNORED, MIR!”) and this is what I deserve.
Yes. I deserve soggy spare toiletry items under the sink, because I am cold and unfeeling and all of that.
Anyway, that’s not actually what I wanted to tell you about. What I wanted to tell you—and let’s just pause for a second here, while I put on my most blissful, sappy face—is that Otto and I have been married for seven months today!
I don’t really talk about my first marriage here, anymore, partly because my ex reads me religiously (which, really, is SO INTERESTING, because when we were still married, he never read my writing at all, GO FIGURE)—and I would like to say that I refrain out of respect for him, but let’s just be honest, here, and admit that it’s more a matter of having a couple of times fielded the sputtering indignation that presented itself upon having dared to mention him in anything other than a glowing light—and partly because it’s a subject that grows tiresome. There’s only so much humor that can be wrung from “we were young and stupid and mostly miserable,” you know?
But last night as Otto and I were chatting about nothing particular, I remembered that today would mark seven months, and I mentioned it, and for a moment we lay snuggled up there in the dark, contemplating the awesomeness that is our relationship.
“It’s just,” I said, after a moment, because if anyone can ruin a fabulous silent moment, THAT’D BE ME, “everything was SO HARD in my first marriage. The first year was AWFUL. And I thought it was like that for everyone, that it was just such a big adjustment that it was necessarily terrible, and my job was to suck it up and deal.” Otto reached his arm further around me and rubbed my back a little. “And this,” I continued, “it’s just SO DIFFERENT. I mean, I thought this first year would be really difficult, with all the changes, and the moving and everything. I expected it to be nearly as hard. And there’ve been issues, I guess, but on the whole it’s been so incredibly EASY! I mean, it hasn’t been awful. It’s been great!”
“Yeah,” said Otto, softly, after a moment. “But… you do know that every night I go lay over there—” he pointed to the very edge of the bed “—and cry myself to sleep, right?”
There was a VERY. LONG. PAUSE.
After which I lovingly gave my loving husband an extremely loving SHOVE for being such a smartass.
We laughed and laughed, and as we resettled ourselves back into our snuggle I moved my face up to Otto’s and gave him a lingering kiss. “You do realize,” I whispered, in my best husky voice, “that I am totally blogging that tomorrow morning?”
“I’ve come to expect it,” he replied.
Happy seven months, Baby! We totally deserve each other. (I’m not sure what that says about us, actually, but let’s just go with it.)