Two months from tomorrow, Mark and I will be married. Holy shit.
Even a month ago, October 18 felt like worlds away.
And suddenly, we're choosing the song for our first dance (it's perfect), thinking about where our friends and family will sit as they eat and drink to celebrate the start of our new life together, waiting for our invitations to come back from the calligrapher.
I vowed a long time ago not to become the kind of bride they make television shows about. And for the most part, I haven't. Because more than I'm looking forward to the wedding — which I'm sure will be the best party I've ever attended — I'm more excited to be married.
This morning, we woke up and went our separate ways, briefly: I biked to the grocery store for blueberries and bacon; he brought home coffee from the café down the street, turned on the radio and filled the sleepy apartment with morning life.
I made ill-fated cornmeal pancakes (blech) and bacon — at least there was bacon — while 93 XRT's Breakfast With The Beatles played over our hand-me-down record player.
And as our wedding day inches closer, I'm more and more enamored with this real-life preview of what our marriage will be like. Put simply: We have fun. Even on a cool, overcast Sunday, going through the day with him at my side is a joy.
We are weird. We are gross. We make each other laugh endlessly. And what's more important — in a world so backward it'll make you cry if you catch it in the right light — than laughter?
We are in love. We love each other. Two different things, both equally important. Not every day is white sand beaches and crystal-blue water, but I've never gone to bed angry. And that's not nothing.
Mark and I have been together for two and a half years, and I've barely written about him or about us. And it's not for the lack of things to write about — but in past relationships, I've believed I had something to prove, to myself and to the world. So I wrote and wrote and wrote.
They say you just know when you've found "the one."
I guess it's true.
This morning, a good friend posted a link to the blog of a woman who'd just officiated a friends' wedding. Her charge was one of the truer, lovelier things I've ever read about marriage.
Mark and I will be faced with a lot of choices in our marriage. Some will be simple, like whether to have that fourth slice of pizza and finish the entire 16-inch pie, leaving us without the leftovers we'd halfheartedly intended. Those are easy choices. Of course we'll eat the pizza.
Others will be more difficult. Like whether to have and raise children. It's something I waffle on every day, and something we've talked about many times already. There are so many factors weighing on that eventual decision, and not just that we'd ultimately have to give those last two pieces of pizza to our child instead of eating them ourselves. (Or order a bigger pizza. Lord; more choices.)
Our life together won't always be a walk in the park: The pancakes won't always be perfect; the choices we make mostly won't revolve around pizza. But I can't think of anyone I'd rather face the misfortunes and tough choices with.
Two months until the first day of the rest of our lives.
I can't wait.
But in the meantime, I'll savor the days of this countdown.