Three.

We celebrated with a quiet night at home. Stella in bed, candles and lights, fondue, good conversation. 

Three years ago today it was a Saturday. A sunny day after a week of snow and the streets were wet and the sidewalks had dirty little puddles. You came and picked me up in the morning and we were jittery and anxious and sleep-deprived. We walked hand-in-hand through those temple doors with such resolve, such assurance, hope overflowing.


Hope that we would have enough money to survive. Hope that we were making the right decision. Hope that we would still love each other in fifty years time.


Today our marriage is a three year old. Old enough to talk, but still finding its voice. Still sweet and innocent and playful and curious. Just starting to make sense of the world and our part in it.


Life is beginning to slide into a comfortable groove. The dust is settling. Our roles are feeling broken-in. And although some days are hard and some arguments are seemingly endless - nothing has ever felt so right.