On Sunday, my husband and I celebrated our second anniversary. It didn’t quite go off as planned, but neither did it two years ago when we did it in the first place.

We had planned to drop the boy off at my folks’ as we did last year. Unfortunately, my folk’s opted to go “up the hill” (code for “going gambling just to tick Jess off and cause her to give us an hour long lecture on the economy”) the week previous and, as usual, came home sick. While my dad insisted that it was a sinus infection, I didn’t want to risk it. Something funny happens when you become a parent, you become downright terrified of any and all risk of infection because there is nothing worse than being sick with a sick child.

We had a nice, loud dinner at the restaurant in which Eric proposed (well, a sister of the restaurant), and then went grocery shopping, just the three of us. My anniversary present was a bag of my favorite lily bulbs and a million on-sale Yo Gabba Gabba shirts for the boy (it is the year for cotton afterall). Eric got more knick-knack boxes.

I forget, sometimes, how much Eric does for us, for me. He keeps our cars running (in fact, he’s outside doing that right now), he loves to cook, he’s happy doing the dishes (if only because he has to re-do them after I’m done), and he’s willing to put up with hanging up all the laundry because I not only despise it but am too lazy short to get them up there right. I’m much more grateful for him than I let on most of the time and that really needs to change. He should’ve gotten more than knick-knack boxes.

While our anniversary night out won’t be until this weekend, it will be without the boy screaming, “More agua! More WHEEEEE!*” which will make it at least 40x less fun. I must be the only girl who doesn’t entirely look forward to a date night with her husband. I should, and I feel kinda awful that I don’t but, really, I’m not sure if I know how to have adult conversation anymore. I have a feeling it’ll be a whole lot of, “I miss the boy. When are we going to see the boy? Did you see the boy when he did that ridiculously awesome thing that I bet no other child on the face of the planet has ever done? When are we going to see the boy again?”

On occasion, I get a little worried that I may have lost myself. Which would entirely suck, because it took a long time to find myself in the first place. Of course, if this is me forgotten, I think I’m okay with that. I have a wonderful family, a caring husband and a beautiful son. I don’t think I could ask for more.

Happy 2nd Anniversary, Eric. I love you.

* Wheee is the boy’s term for, “run me down the aisles in the shopping cart at break(other-shopper’s)neck speeds while I stare at the ceiling and yell, “WHEEEEEEEEE!”