On Wednesday of last week, while I was still a disgusting mucous factory, my husband came home from work (as usual) kissed me hello (as usual) and said, “Happy two months, my wife.”
In my Advil Cold and Sinus haze, I’d missed the milestone of being married a whole two calendar months. It’s funny because for the days leading up to our elopement, I kept a running countdown, out loud, by asking my hubby-to-be if he knew how many days were left until we were officially married. To his credit, he always had the correct number. For the first few weeks after the big day, I announced to him frequently how long I’d been his Mrs., largely because I was so excited about our changed status.
Somewhere in the last little bit, I have lot track of the days because they’re all so good. I can’t believe I’ve been Mrs. Sparky for two months plus four days. On the other hand, I also am having trouble realizing we’ve only been married two months. It feels like we’ve been together for years and years because things are so comfy and delightful. I am well aware I won the husband lottery, and I guess time flies when life is wonderful.
Time also flies when people are way too busy with mammals and work and all kinds of stuff, but we’re going with joy zinging time along.
Life is good when a person is so loved.
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