Reflecting

There are only twenty three days left until Christmas, and although there are gifts that might be nice to have, there really isn't a thing in the world that I want.

Only a few Octobers ago, when we were lying in bed one morning, Andrew whispered, "Will you marry me?" Which means, of course, WILL. YOU. MARRY. ME? And I, well.

I fell asleep.

I remember opening an eyelid, only one, and smiling just a little as I rolled over and tried not to wake myself up. A marriage proposal is not the kind of question you take seriously.

And I realize now how bitchy that sounds, and if you think that I'm going to launch into some obligatory sappiness about how my life two years later is all unicorns and rainbows, well, you are completely and totally correct.

Marrying Andrew is like going back to being eight years old, when you jump out of bed excited every single day, JUST BECAUSE IT'S MORNING. We're at this perfect time in our lives where our careers are established enough to allow for stability and freedom and the world is just brimming with possibilities. We're dumb enough to still be blindly in love, and we live in a place where it's always overwhelmingly beautiful. And we're just now starting to seriously consider a family, which means figuring out if that's two adults and four dogs or six kids, five dogs, two adults and a horse. I'm the one pushing for a horse.

So, you see, I have everything I could ever want.

And I'm grateful. I'm so insanely grateful every second of every minute of every day.

But.

Still.



If Santa is hooked up with God or Buddha, there is one favor I'd ask...