When I was young, I didn’t want a husband. I just wanted a daughter from adoption. And we will live in a fairytale cottage surrounded by pollenless flowers and bake lemon blueberry muffins in matching gingham aprons.
Now with our beautiful Sprout and our tiny house, my childhood dreams could come true – plus there’s my husband to wash the baking pans.
I was 27 when I met Francis, 28 when I became his girlfriend, 31 when I accepted his proposal, and 32 when I became his wife. And now, we are on our second year of marriage and we have the sweetest and loveliest 15-month old daughter.
Time flies by so fast when you are in love, they say, and for the most part, things have been smooth sailing. We rarely fought when we were still boyfriend and girlfriend and we rarely fight even now. Yes, we miscommunicate maybe once a week, frustrating each other with differing sense of humor. And we do sleep angry but we wake up just fine.
I am far from perfect as a wife and as a mother, with all my flaws plus all my insecurities plus all my frustrations plus all my doubts plus all my ghosts. Plus I’m lazy and gross. But, hey, for every Fiona, there’s a Shrek, and Shrek is the best leading man of all. I know your prayers for our little family and I promise we will reach that together.
Happy anniversary, wabwab. You’re only the second best thing that happened to me because the best thing is what we have.