Four years ago, I spread blankets on the floor of our newlywed apartment and felt a little frumpy because we were staying inside to study all day. I'm pretty sure Andrew spent half the day working and I'm also one hundred percent positive that I spent half the morning primping and the rest of the day laying flat on my belly reading 500 year old essays for an English class. Of the three blankets I threw on the floor that morning, one is completely torn up, the other is covered in grape juice stains, and the other was used in the Church Nursery for a good year before coming back home to us. We didn't have any babies then and I didn't know what a luxury it was to be alone and we were silly and flirty and in love and completely naive about how our lives were going to play out.
And in four years, I hope I look back on this Labor Day- the one where we were woken up at 4:00 and tried a new Mexican restaurant for lunch and left sheepishly after Henry threw ridiculous amounts of rice and chips on the floor and where we spent the afternoon battling two snotty noses and where we went on a walk and spotted giant ants and some kind of overgrown squirrel monster and ate hamburgers in a kitchen with groceries still on the counter- I hope I look back on this one and say that we were silly and flirty and in love and completely naive about how our lives were going to play out.
Because, really, we have only just started.