moosh in indy.

The cliche is that the first year is the hardest. A woman I knew at work said the first five years were the hardest. Cody says the first year was indeed the hardest. I submit it was the first four and a half (sorry dude, nothing personal). I don’t really remember the first year, I remember where we were when September 11th happened, but that’s about it. Maybe it’s that blissful memory loss thing I have about cruddy stuff. But at five years we’re on the same schedule for the first time ever, we have what we decided was “a three year plan”, we can talk about more babies without freaking out, he knows to let me nap is the greatest gift in the world and I know how he likes his eggs and I know what to order him at his favorite restaurant. We’ve been to New York twice, we’ve moved four times, we’ve been married twice, one or the other of us has been in the hospital more than ten times, we’ve had a baby, we’ve bought home furnishings, we’ve been in three different wards and suffered through one so far, we’ve been to funerals and weddings and baptisms and blessings. We have inside jokes. (Don’t check your bags at JFK!) He stood by me and let me throw a snit fit last night at the movie theater. He’s called the vice-president of Walgreen’s to defend my honor. We can watch married people movies and appreciate them (the Story of Us, we watched it when we were first married and it scared us to death, I watched it just a few months ago and it became one of my favorites) Five years ago the thought of fighting with Cody made me convulse, now I know we wouldn’t be who we are if it weren’t for all those “heated discussions”. And who are we? Well, we’re a pretty darn happy family.