This is the photo I like to call, the "fetus" photo. Don't my husband and I look like fetuses?
Hang on, let me do the math.
This picture was taken about, oh, 12 years ago. I had just turned 21. He was turning 24. We were in college. This was back when there were still Polaroids. We met just after my 21st birthday and I ordered my first real drink at a restaurant on our first date.
(I didn't crop out the Polaroid part just to leave the effect...)
Oh, if only life were that simple.
But no. Our history was a bit complicated. I was young and ambitious and itching to go places with my head in the clouds, he was centered and serious and content where he was.
And by the way, I just woke him up to ask him why we were at the Melting Pot in that picture and neither of us can seem to remember. I think we were there for a birthday or a 3 month anniversary (or something equally important).
I feel like we've been together forever, but really we broke up a zillion times for every reason in the world (like he slurps his soup). We dated for a few years in college (I did the whole "doodle my name with his last name in my notebook" thing.) It didn't seem to work out and we went our separate ways. And then I moved to New York (he came to my going away party and enraged my then-boyfriend who was convinced he was still in love with me. Which he probably was, let's face it. How could he not be? *grin*)
And then he moved to Italy, and then he moved back and came to visit me in New York.
And then we did the long distance thing.
And then I was sick of my job and trying to plot my next move, and when he didn't show interest in the "next step," I moved clear across the country. To Utah.
Just try to call my bluff. (I can be stubborn.)
Then after a year, he pined after me and had many many sleepless nights (ok not quite...) and we met up in Napa Valley for a weekend and he proposed to me at the Robert Mondavi vineyard and I left my job and moved back to get married.
I always knew he was "the one", even way back then, in that crazy polaroid. We never could seem to lose touch after we broke up, even if we tried. But I really knew that was it when we met up in New York. Because when he left to come home, I had a pain I had never felt before. It felt like someone had died. And every time he would visit me and leave, I would be down for the count for the rest of the day, crying, sobbing, not knowing when I would see him again, with a hole in my heart. My whole entire insides, really.
Long distance was horrible. Especially the never knowing when or if it would ever be anything but long distance. And then the never knowing if he would ever want it to be more. (Can you tell that he's the practical one and I'm the passionate one?) I remember crying to songs while riding around in my Jeep in Utah.
Oh I am such a sap.
But thank goodness those days are finally behind us, just for the simple reason that I cannot stand to be without him, not even for a night. I used to dream about a day when I would never have to worry about when the next time I would get to see him would be, a day when our visits wouldn't have to end after a long weekend. When we would come home to each other after a long day.
That's my guy.