Twelve years ago tomorrow, my husband and I got married surrounded by friends, family, and people our parents invited that we had never seen before. We were young, but I felt old to be just getting married, like only a 23 year old can. We had been together for seven years then, we basically grew up together from teenagers to early twenties to now.
Now we have been together longer than we were ever apart, 19 years now. We marvel at that number often. And on the cusp of our anniversary, I'm not going to say the usual stuff about how he is my best friend, soul mate, gets all my jokes, adores me bla, bla, bla.
But I will say this, when I was going through the 40+ hour natural labor with my second daughter, as I was getting close to transition, he held me up, like no other person could have, as I squeezed his butt in agony and called him "Bucky" (I don't remember this but our doula pointed it out later, while laughing). He believed in me and my body's ability to give birth and when I felt my baby coming and then she was there and the rest is a blur. Until the next day when I realized I had fallen in love with him all over again. He was, is, and always will be my rock.
Happy Anniversary Bucky! Here's our song...