little black journal

The Mr. and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary on the 20th.  Eight years ago we were honeymooning in Costa Rica, enjoying a chance to sun-soak and snorkel and recharge.  We were looking forward to making a home in our cozy Capitol Hill apartment, thrilled that from there on out, after several years of dating long-distance, there would be no more wishing each other good night over the phone.  It felt like such an enormous gift, getting to go to sleep with Shane by my side.

Eight years and one baby later, I’m dearly cherishing going to sleep, but I’m afraid the “with Shane by my side part” fell off my gratitude radar some time ago.  I get swept up in my roles as architect and mama and orchestrator of all things domestic, and I forget to remember how lucky I am that I get to be Shane’s wife, too.  We enjoyed a little marital reboot on Tuesday as we ventured out of the house sans baby for dinner and drinks at our new favorite Mexican joint.  Jack and La Verne hooked us up with their amazing baby sitter for the evening, and although we spent the short drive to Georgetown anxiously wondering if Juliette was still sleeping, and then wondering what she would do if she woke up crying and a stranger came into her room to soothe her, and then wondering how long the baby sitter would wait to call us if she couldn’t get Jules to stop crying, and then wondering how quickly we could get home from the restaurant if we got the dreaded mayday phone call, once we were seated at our table and sipping our first round of margaritas, we were asking each other why we don’t get out together more often.  We savored our chile verde and chorizo tacos and we focused fully on each other as we checked in and reminisced.  And we came home to find that Juliette had snoozed through the whole thing, crisis-free.  A complete date night success!

Happy anniversary, buhb.  You are a better husband, father, and friend than I could have ever dreamed of.