February 4

Sometimes I don't think it was anything that the judge said or our signatures or even the vows, but that cab ride we took down to City Hall that made us married.

15 minutes of us smiling at each other across a torn naugahyde bench seat while being driven too fast down Fulton, giddy and stupid with the promise of it all.

8 years, 2 kids, 4 houses, 6 jobs and 400 Taco Tuesdays later, I look back at these pictures that really weren't taken that long ago and think about how smooth my forehead looked that day. Last night I slept in Ozzy's crib because he was crying, pulled myself tight into a ball and slept that way until morning with no pillow, no blanket. Just me in my robe and our son in his sleepsack, the promise of that cab ride made not good but really fucking great.

Happy anniversary, love.
xo,
S