To the outside observer Cody and I are like oil and vinegar.
While I am peppy! outgoing! dramatic! and always with the talky talky!
Cody is shy. reserved. stoic.
I am an exclamation point. Cody is a period.
Both of my parents have never understood us.
We first saw each other in August of 2000. Our first date was mid November 2000. We were secretly engaged in early December, official by New Year’s and I had a big shiny ring on my finger January 16th, 2001. We were husband and wife less than six months later, two months after my 18th birthday.
Needless to say I would “pad” our time spent dating to a lot of people. I usually added about a year when strangers asked and a few extra months when people I knew asked.
I can’t stand newlyweds. Can’t stand people (celebrities mostly) who go on TV and GUSH about how in love they are. They give interviews claiming they have met the love of their life and they are ready to settle down and start a family, they claim marriage “fits” them. (And really when I say “they” I mean Britney Spears. Mostly.)
I was always cautious about admitting how in love with my husband I was. From the moment I met him. I knew people were watching us, waiting for us to fail. As the years passed by I still never proclaimed my love for him openly. When in reality I would squee internally every time his truck pulled up. Or every night when he would reach over to pull me close to him as we fell asleep.
I guess I never wanted to jinx it.
A neighbor of mine said to me a month ago that I never seem happy when Cody comes home. I don’t go to the door and greet him with a hug, a kiss and a “how was your day?” She was completely right, but even though I may not show it on my face, my stomach still does little flutters when I hear his key in the door.
Besides, If I were to run to the door and suddenly greet him he’d wonder what I had broken or how much I had spent.
We’re coming up on being together for eight years. I think it’s safe to finally admit something.
I am so disgustingly in love with my husband I could put any newlywed to shame.
I love the way he smells. I love the way my head rests perfectly on his chest when we hug. I love that his hands are always warm and they have the perfect texture, rough but not nasty. I love that he works so hard. I love how much he loves his family. I love how he looks when he comes home from work, sleeves rolled up, tie undone.
He knows me so well. I can’t hide from him. And yet neither of us completely depend on each other. I am okay with who I am without him by my side, but I know I wouldn’t be who I am if he had never stood there in the first place.
I love him.
I always have.
From that moment I opened my front door and saw him standing there on my porch with white socks, sandals and jeans.
We are supposed to be together. With all of our flaws, quirks, annoyances and faults.
I realize that eight years isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. Bad things could happen. I could still be considered naïve to a lot of the world.
Cody wrote me the second love letter of our career last week. The whole letter was magical and spewing rainbow love kisses of glittery butterflies, but most of it is none of your business. This however stood out to me:
“I often find myself thinking about what kind of jackass I am for not telling you everyday how I feel about you. I made the perfect decision when I decided to marry you. We may have rough patches at times, but with each month since we have been here in Indiana, I have felt like we have grown closer and closer together. Maybe Indiana is our lucky state; and that just does not sound right.”
I no longer hate Indiana. It is our lucky state. Because whether we leave or stay, I have fallen more in love with him over the past two years than I had in the previous six. Funny how easy it is to love someone more when you share a strong mutual dislike for the state you live in something.
We are good.
We are in love with each other.
It may be the best feeling I’ve ever felt.
Now enough with the mushy mushy. As you were.
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