Do you know what today is? Today is the 11th-year anniversary of the first time Danny and I went on a date. This is also the first time in 11 years that Danny hasn't mentioned today to me. April 6. Our first date. More than a decade ago. Three kids, two houses, and my whole twenties ago. Yikes.
I met Danny when I was 19, and he was 21. He was with me when I moved to Moncton, and when I moved back a year later. We spent our twenties buying two different houses, getting married, going on our honeymoon, having three kids, and dealing with career changes and life's hardships. We were wild and crazy and in love. And although the crazy is still there sometimes (hello, three kids!!), I think we've lost some of the wild. But after 11 years of being together, a little less wild is good sometimes. I call it "old love."
Back when I was 19, we had "new love." You know... the "no, you hang up first!" smoochy, kissy, gross sort of love. New love was awesome. Danny and I would email back and forth every day. Even though we saw each other every single day. He'd leave me love notes on the counter, written on a receipt, or a paper towel, or whatever he could find. I'd come home for my supper break at the drug store, and he'd have a pasta dinner waiting for me. We'd talk about going to the movies, or out for dinner, and we would decide - together - where to go. He would tell me about his job, and the work he did on planes, and I actually wanted to know, to be involved in that aspect of his life. We would go to bed every night at the same time, and fall asleep cuddled together. Ahhh, new love.
Crap's not like that anymore. Instead of emails, he gets texts that say "Jax pooped. On the potty, and not on the floor. Rock on!" There are no love notes on the counter, but some days he makes our bed before he leaves the house, so hells yeah for that!! He rarely cooks me dinner anymore (cause really, who wants to cook for 7 people??), but he slaps my butt or pinches my ass every time he walks by me in the kitchen, and sometimes he even honks what's left of my pathetic excuse for boobs... so I'm pretty sure that means he still thinks I'm sexy as hell. We don't decide together anymore where to eat or what to see. We spent a good portion of our late-20s fighting about it (I don't care, you pick!), and we've just come to the arrangement that if Danny really gave a shit, he'd let me know. Otherwise, my choice! I still care about his work, which is now school, but he knows that I know even less about computer programming and sciences than I did about Auroras. So he talks, and I try my best to comprehend, but we both know I'm not fooling anyone. And as for bedtime, three kids has killed that for us. I'm exhausted by 7:05, about five minutes after the kids are down for the night. I try my best to make it to 10:00, but honestly I'm in bed most nights by 9. Some nights he comes with me, watches a show while I fall asleep, and then returns to the living room to finish Walking Dead, or whatever other gory crap he watches after I'm out cold. I like having him with me while I fall asleep, but I can't tell you how many times I've woken up from the brink of sleep choking on one of his farts. So perhaps the living room is the best place for him after all.
Do I miss the "new love" of 11 years ago? Sure, sometimes! But there's something awesome about being at a point in my life when my husband comes home from the grocery store with a new package of tea he saw me eyeballing. Or knowing that when he says, "Sammy, are your hormones acting up again?" that he mostly means "Are you okay, do you need a hug?" It's great knowing that when he says "Do we have plans on Thursday night?" he really means "One of the guys just texted, can I go out for wings?" because even though I told him years ago he doesn't need my permission to ever go out, he still respects me and our life enough to check in every single time. He still holds my hand in public. He still kisses me goodbye every time he leaves the house. He still texts me "I'm here. xox." when he reaches Acadia every day, because he knows I worry about his drive on the highway. He knows all of my faults, and I know all of his. He knows what drives me absolutely crazy, and he knows that at least once a day I'll drive him completely insane. He still brings home flowers when he knows I've had a bad day, and pepperoni and chicken wings when it's been an especially rough week. He delivers me snacks and water bottles and vitamins in bed when I text him at 9:05 p.m. because I don't want to get back out from under the covers - even though it means stopping whatever he's doing to do something for me. He still offers to clean the barf when one of the kids is sick, because he knows how much I hate it. And he does it all with love. Every single time!
New love is pretty awesome. But this old love crap... well it's pretty spectacular in lots of different ways. And now that we're both officially old too (hello, thirties!), I can only see our old love getting even older!
Back when I was 19, we had "new love." You know... the "no, you hang up first!" smoochy, kissy, gross sort of love. New love was awesome. Danny and I would email back and forth every day. Even though we saw each other every single day. He'd leave me love notes on the counter, written on a receipt, or a paper towel, or whatever he could find. I'd come home for my supper break at the drug store, and he'd have a pasta dinner waiting for me. We'd talk about going to the movies, or out for dinner, and we would decide - together - where to go. He would tell me about his job, and the work he did on planes, and I actually wanted to know, to be involved in that aspect of his life. We would go to bed every night at the same time, and fall asleep cuddled together. Ahhh, new love.
Crap's not like that anymore. Instead of emails, he gets texts that say "Jax pooped. On the potty, and not on the floor. Rock on!" There are no love notes on the counter, but some days he makes our bed before he leaves the house, so hells yeah for that!! He rarely cooks me dinner anymore (cause really, who wants to cook for 7 people??), but he slaps my butt or pinches my ass every time he walks by me in the kitchen, and sometimes he even honks what's left of my pathetic excuse for boobs... so I'm pretty sure that means he still thinks I'm sexy as hell. We don't decide together anymore where to eat or what to see. We spent a good portion of our late-20s fighting about it (I don't care, you pick!), and we've just come to the arrangement that if Danny really gave a shit, he'd let me know. Otherwise, my choice! I still care about his work, which is now school, but he knows that I know even less about computer programming and sciences than I did about Auroras. So he talks, and I try my best to comprehend, but we both know I'm not fooling anyone. And as for bedtime, three kids has killed that for us. I'm exhausted by 7:05, about five minutes after the kids are down for the night. I try my best to make it to 10:00, but honestly I'm in bed most nights by 9. Some nights he comes with me, watches a show while I fall asleep, and then returns to the living room to finish Walking Dead, or whatever other gory crap he watches after I'm out cold. I like having him with me while I fall asleep, but I can't tell you how many times I've woken up from the brink of sleep choking on one of his farts. So perhaps the living room is the best place for him after all.
Do I miss the "new love" of 11 years ago? Sure, sometimes! But there's something awesome about being at a point in my life when my husband comes home from the grocery store with a new package of tea he saw me eyeballing. Or knowing that when he says, "Sammy, are your hormones acting up again?" that he mostly means "Are you okay, do you need a hug?" It's great knowing that when he says "Do we have plans on Thursday night?" he really means "One of the guys just texted, can I go out for wings?" because even though I told him years ago he doesn't need my permission to ever go out, he still respects me and our life enough to check in every single time. He still holds my hand in public. He still kisses me goodbye every time he leaves the house. He still texts me "I'm here. xox." when he reaches Acadia every day, because he knows I worry about his drive on the highway. He knows all of my faults, and I know all of his. He knows what drives me absolutely crazy, and he knows that at least once a day I'll drive him completely insane. He still brings home flowers when he knows I've had a bad day, and pepperoni and chicken wings when it's been an especially rough week. He delivers me snacks and water bottles and vitamins in bed when I text him at 9:05 p.m. because I don't want to get back out from under the covers - even though it means stopping whatever he's doing to do something for me. He still offers to clean the barf when one of the kids is sick, because he knows how much I hate it. And he does it all with love. Every single time!
New love is pretty awesome. But this old love crap... well it's pretty spectacular in lots of different ways. And now that we're both officially old too (hello, thirties!), I can only see our old love getting even older!
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