Yesterday my husband and I celebrated four wonderful years of marriage.
Early tomorrow morning we leave for Denver, Colorado to celebrate some more.
I look back now and I see how young and ill-prepared I was to get married at only twenty years old. 20! I was a baby. And yet.
I married this guy who has helped me grow and has grown with me. Who saw past my immaturity and knew every shortcoming, and who has always loved every part of me anyway. Who is patient and calm and kind and who constantly has me laughing. Who has this uncanny ability to fix everything and who would do absolutely anything to see me happy. Who has whole-heartedly believed in and encouraged my dreams over the years, and has, in turn, helped me to believe in myself and conquer those dreams. Whose smile lights up a room and whose heart is the biggest of anyone I’ve ever known. Who has taught me that dogs are not just dogs, they are family. Who my family adores, and whose family I am proud to call my family too. Who can’t wait to build our future children a giant tree-house, and whose future children will unknowingly luck into having the best future dad in the entire world. Who just now lit our microwave on fire and then gave a childlike grin while reading a breadstick package that disclosed, “Do not put in microwave.”
Had I married anyone else at 20 years old, I’m guessing I would have been divorced or imprisoned weeks later. But I married Robby Boudreaux and we’re celebrating four years of wedded bliss in Colorado tomorrow. If he doesn’t burn our house down, that is.