Our Fifth Wedding Anniversary Was Just Another Day (and I’m Happy About That)

A reflection on the changes a few years have brought.

Five years ago I gulped a breakfast I no longer remember and could not taste, while 30 miles away he took his car to be washed so no grime would brush against my white dress.

Today, we staggered showers and sips of coffee, turn-about, while our baby slept and our two-year-old shouted “open presents!”

Five years ago I clutched lace-wrapped rose stems and stepped slowly down a church aisle, while he waited under a tulle-draped arch and tried to swallow his nerves.

Today, I stepped over Thomas trains and wooden track looping and criss-crossing the living room floor with a reused Christmas bag in hand, while he changed a diaper and and cleared a board game out of the way to set a wrapped box on the dining table.

Five years ago we posed for the most expensive photos we’d ever had, giddy with joy and keyed-up energy and facial muscles aching from all the smiles, electric with wonder and sparkling with delight.

Today, we are dressed in uniforms and t-shirts, more drab and soft and muscle-ached and sunburned and even a little grayer, and our hands fit perfectly into each other’s like two pieces of a puzzle.

Five years ago we floated through a carefully rehearsed day, everything curated and chosen to reflect all the romance that had led to the vows we said and all that we dreamed would come later.

Today, he went to work for ten hours and I fed and changed and wiped and played and rocked and carried and read aloud and washed and dressed and cuddled to sleep and cooked and picked up toys, and texted “when are you coming home?” and he sent back a selfie with “I love you” in sign language and said he was clocking out.

Five years ago the future was starry in our eyes and the music loud in our ears and the first dance spun across a floor we never felt.

Today, we are too tired to even think of a waltz, and our pillows lie touching on a bed that has mellowed with the comfort of gentle acceptance and constant support.

Five years ago the new rings were bands of constant pressure on our fingers, strange and almost tight in the circulation of excitement and adrenaline.

Today, they have rubbed and tightened a crease on each hand, and we forget that we are wearing them, because they have become a part of us, and he of me, and I of him.

Five years ago we stayed up talking in a hotel suite, imagining all the wonderful things to come in many years together, never once thinking of injuries or death or depression or a pandemic or late-night fights or terrifying news or who was responsible for starting the dishwasher.

Today, all those things have come and gone, and will come again, and two are better than one to hike through them, knowing what we do now and unable to fathom how much we still have to learn.

Five years ago every word said “love” and every look said “beautiful” and every thought said “you and me.”

Today there are a thousand little inside jokes, and a grocery list of all the things I know you like, and a post-it note on the bathroom mirror with a badly drawn heart, and the functional dialogue of pediatrician appointments and changing the oil, and the repeated sound of your name that’s been tumbled smooth like a rock in a river.

Five years ago we were married. Today we are married still, and tomorrow we will be a little more worn and a little better fitted together, like spoons in a drawer that have been clattered and dirtied and washed and rest, perfectly and comfortably, in a hand that knows their weight.