Last night was the four year anniversary of Daniel and I deciding we for sure wanted to try being more than friends. It was the beginning of a college summer break, we were both back in Tulsa, and we'd been hanging out almost every day for several weeks. That night we sat out on the curb in front of my dad's house talking about God and fear and fireflies. Daniel kissed me before he left, and he's the only man I've wanted to kiss since.
Last night was sticky hot, I was in Tulsa, and I even saw a few fireflies, much like that night out in the street four years ago. But instead of sitting shoulder to shoulder on the concrete with my husband, I spent the evening missing him as he checked into a hotel many hours away. Daniel is on a work trip this week, and although we aren't making a gigantic deal about dating anniversaries now that we're married, I'm feeling a little nostalgic for the summers we've spent together, particularly the ones here in our hometown. I'm sure the pregnancy hormones don't help. :)
I slept alone for 24 plus years, but somehow seven months of marriage completely erased my ability to feel super comfortable doing so. We've only spent a few long weekends apart since we've been married and I always approach them with this whole "this will be good for us--we probably need time away" attitude--probably because we had an argument a day or two before he left (marriage is hard, friends) and part of me is still holding onto my claim to be independent. But then he's gone and I realize how silly and selfish and needy I really am and I want to eat all of my "we need a break from each other, anyway"s and book him the next plane home. Miss you, boo.