A third anniversary doesn’t seem to have as much pizzazz as other years. The first year is a novel thing, the second, “Hey look, we’re still at this and we’re figuring it out!” Three…it feels like turning 22, in a way—you’re already legal everywhere, you’ve done the dancing-on-the-tables thing, and you’re pretty sure the last big party was a year ago and the next one won’t be till you’re 30.
That’s not to say that I’m not excited for our third anniversary. It’s a moment that signifies that we are still choosing one other, and choosing love, every day. It’s a day to remember all of the nerves and joy and laughter and all-too-quick excitement that shook up our lives three years ago. It’s our day. I’ve had a full heart since I woke up this morning, flipping through photos and remembering. To me, a lot of the joy is in seeing how life has changed since we got married—people in our photos who had no kids now have two, our flower girls are kindergartners, we have our own house and our own child.