Year Three.

Dear Gid.

Three years. You and me. Remember our first meal in our first apartment? We hadn't even brought our boxes in from the moving van. No furniture. Nothing in the closets. No idea where the grocery store was. We happened to have some noodles, and some marinara (that I was given at a bridal shower), so we dug a pot from one of the boxes in the car, and ate the spaghetti on top of a printer box that we used as a dining table.

Then we sat. On the floor. Our backs against the living room wall. And then-- I had a mini breakdown. Something about neither of us having a job, any friends, or any idea what we were doing in boise idaho. I flipped. And you were calm, sitting with your arm around me. Yep. That was our first dinner in our first apartment. Fast forward to a year later. We both had great jobs. We had dear sweet friends. We had furniture. We went to Oregon for our anniversary. I felt like we'd been married for a few weeks. But it'd been a year. And then a few months later, we decided to move. To Salt Lake City. For graduate school. For both of us. (dun dun dunnnnnnn)

Remember moving into our slc apartment? Remember our 2 year anniversary a few days after we moved in? I felt like we'd run a marathon. Two whole years. Remember that time (those times) that I break down in a puddle of tears similar to the one I made in our first Boise apartment? And you put your arms around me, squeeze me, and somehow I just know everything will be ok? Remember how we've fit everything we own into 480 square feet? Remember how there is mold constantly in our bathroom, regardless how much bleach we cover it with? Remember how my leotards and tights are everywhere? Remember how we need pliers to turn our AC unit on and off?  Remember how lucky lucky lucky we are to have our sweet lives in our tiny apartment?

Which brings us to yesterday. Three years, Gid. You and me. And even though I feel like we've had lots of ups and downs, I'm super crazy about you. Absolutely nuts. Waay more than I was on our wedding day, (and I was pretty into you then...), or even our 1st or 2nd anniversary.

You're the marshmellow to my hot chocolate, the gravy to my mashed potatoes, and the hummus to my pita chips. You're my favorite hello, and my hardest goodbye. And we get to look forward to many many many more years, just you and me. And maybe even a few others.

Happy three years, sweet boy. Fist bump.

Ok, high five.