How in the actual hell can Brian and I have possibly been married for two years? How?
I mean, I know our first couple of years of marriage haven't been the most ordinary, what with moving to France for six months and all, but still - this is going by way too fast.
I don't know what else to tell you, except that I'm still the luckiest woman in the world. I won the husband jackpot. And I keep getting luckier every day.
Everyone likes to make it seem like the wedding is the high point of your life, like it's all downhill from there. And I won't lie, I was scared. I didn't want to lose what we had.
But I haven't. And I won't. We both work really, really hard to be respectful and thoughtful of each other. We try not to blame or point fingers. We both work hard to recognize when the other is stressed or struggling and to help out, or at least not make things worse. It's not always easy - we do have our little arguments. Running pell-mell through the Paris subway system while carrying 6 bags (two of them whose handles snapped off) weighing approximately four billion pounds comes to mind. So does trying to carry the world's heaviest queen mattress and box spring to the second floor after the world's longest day of house closings. We get snippy sometimes, but at the end of the day, B is always my best friend. It's us against the world, and I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to undertake that task with.
I keep joking that I haven't had a dull moment since I became a Stevenson, but I'm slowly beginning to realize I wouldn't change it for anything. I love you, Brian John. And I ask the Lord, every night, for just another day in paradise.