Ramen noodles and beautiful tumors

Today is the 8th anniversary of my wedding. In roughly seven months, I will reach the point at which a full third of my life has been spent with my wife (including our time dating). We've been together for over 3,500 days, lived in four apartments and two houses, taken in and found homes for seven cats, taken in ten dogs and kept six of them. Since we started dating, I've worked as waiter, a disc jockey, an advertising salesman, a warehouse grunt, a carpet cleaner, a photocopier installer, a mail clerk, a tech support rep, and a programmer. We've owned six different cars, two of which had their engines explode and one of which had a short-lived career as a submarine.

In the last eight years we've rejoiced in the arrival of our beautiful daughter, struggled with becoming a single-income family, retired a bunch of old foolish debt, picked up some new foolish debt, and learned to love Ramen noodles. We've lived with my mother-in-law for several months, lived apart for several months while I looked for work, and lived on opposite schedules for several months while I was working third shift. We beamed with joy as we welcomed our son last year, then cried for fear of the cancer that was found in our daughter the very next day. We have held her hand through surgeries, tests, scans, x-rays, and blood work, and we consider ourselves richly blessed to have a healthy daughter today.

When comparing the last eight years of my life with all the years previous, I can say without hesitation that they have been the hardest eight years to date. There has been more stress, more pain, more worry, more tears, more work, and more fatigue in these years than in any years prior. That said, there has also been more joy, more happiness, and more love in these years than I ever thought possible.

This morning my son, who is teething, chose to celebrate our anniversary by crying his eyes out at 4:15am. As she is prone to do, my wife got up and tended to him without waking me up to ask for help. Several hours later, as I finished getting dressed for work and started heading for the door, I stopped to give my wife a kiss and wish her a happy anniversary. She offered up a feeble smile, clearly exhausted from the short night. In that moment, with bags under her bloodshot eyes, hair a mess, in a wrinkled nightgown covered with baby drool, holding our son, she was to me the most beautiful woman in the world.

We've been through a lot, and if we're lucky, there's a lot more to come. I love you hon. Here's to the next eight years... May they be as wonderful as the last.