Wedded Bliss—Still!

You knew I'd have to post a sappy wedding photo, right?

11.17.07

Today Chris and I celebrated our 2-year wedding anniversary. We kept it simple, meeting up for lunch during the workday, and because 11/17 landed on a Tuesday, we made a nice dinner at home this past weekend, toasted 2 years of wedded bliss, and reflected on this, the second year of our marriage. We came up with three main highlights: First, we agreed that our mutual decision to begin a family was a hugely significant stepping stone in our relationship. I mean, we didn’t just commit to tolerating each other for the rest of our days; we committed to creating and raising a whole new separate human being—together. It’s a step we thought long and hard about, being the plan-ahead, over-analytical dorks that we are. Second, we determined what kind of life our next 25 or so years will be. Obviously, we can’t predict what the future holds, but we’ve prepared for it by deciding that we will a) stay on the East Coast (to our mothers’ disappointment) and b) become country folk. When we got married, we were very undecided as to whether or not we’d end up in Seattle or DC. Then it became clear that Chris needed to stay at GEICO for the time being, and publishing (my industry) is virtually nonexistent in Seattle. The simple truth is that the DC metro area is where our lives are and where they should stay, at least for now. (It’s just terribly bad luck that our families dwell on the opposite coast). Once we decided that we’d stay on the East Coast, we had to figure out how we’d live here. We ended up going one step further than bland suburbia and have chosen to embrace the quirky small town of Poolesville (with its magnet schools!). We thought this would be the best place for us to raise kids—out of the hustle-bustle DC rat race but with all the educational opportunities our future kiddos would need. Two years ago, neither of us could have imagined that we’d settle in a town with only 5,000 people. Third, Chris and I agreed that both (yes, both!) of us mellowed in this, our second year of marriage. As most people know, the first year of marriage is an adventure in getting all the marital kinks out. Well, we must have gotten a lot of kinks out during the first year because this year seemed a lot easier—and it was no average year, what with finding out we’re going to be parents, getting our financial ducks in a row to buy a house, and the utter hell of having the condo on the market and then moving into the apartment that I simply can’t learn to love. As I was reading through the live discussion transcript on washingtonpost.com of my favorite sassy advice columnist, Carolyn Hax, I came across this little exchange that delightfully sums up transitioning into married life and the art of compromise:

Woodbridge, Va.: Single person here who would like to know what "freedoms" I enjoy now that I will have to sacrifice if I get married, aside from the obvious freedom to sleep with anyone I want. My married friends don't seem like prisoners to me, but maybe I'm just not fully aware of the terms of their imprisonment.

Carolyn Hax: I don't see it as imprisonment, but there are limits to what married people have a right to do or decide unilaterally. They can't spend big money on whatever they want; they can't just plan a vacation for themselves wherever and whenever they feel like it; they can't just up and change careers, or quit a job, or choose to relocate, or whatever else without considering/discussing the impact that change will have on their mate. They can't just paint a wall their favorite color without asking if the other likes it. Hell, you can find yourself in the middle of a faux pas just by accepting plans on the spot without making sure your mate didn't already schedule something for that date. When it's a good partnership, these aren't burdens, they're privileges. But they are compromises in one's freedom all the same.

Pretty much sums it up, no?

I had no doubts when I married Chris—I knew he was the man I was meant to marry, period. It's just nice to have one day per year in which you get to remember how lucky you are.