Seven years ago, my life changed. Got flipped upside down, like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Surrounded by 23 of our closest friends and family, I walked down the aisle to marry my best friend on a sandy beach in Hawaii. One of the few things I remember in that moment was realizing the time was right. After dating for eight and a half years, we were ready to become each other's counterbalance.
As a kid, I worried what might happen one day when I was married to someone for seven years, the dreaded Seven Year Itch (and the desire to try something new) I heard so much about. But my nature was to worry. I worried about my parents' finances, I worried my dad's car wouldn't start, and I worried I'd be abandoned at the grocery store (like I had seen on an episode of Punky Brewster). And, yes, I worried about how I'd feel being married to someone for what felt like forrrrrrrever.
Years later, reflecting on the love that has volcanoed for my husband, I can say the skeptics are correct. Seven years into my marriage, I'm itching. Itching to get closer to JD, to rest squarely in the center of his heart and a rooted fixture in his life. If I had the chance to walk down the aisle again along that sandy beach in Hawaii, I wouldn't. No, I'd run.
If I knew then what I know now, I sprint into his arms and shout I DO because the last seven years have been made of the stuff dreams are made of. Sort of like a glitter covered burrito, only better.
JD, I love you. Thank you for being the better part of me. Happy Anniversary!