Fifteen

It's not Throwback Thursday, but I'm about to post a picture of my nineteen-year-old self.

I hadn't even grown into my big head yet. Awwww.

Yep: I was a teenage bride. I'd love to know who was sitting in the church pews fifteen years ago today, thinking, "I give this six months." I'm sure that was the general consensus, seeing as I was practically a baby (and my husband was newly twenty-three). I mean - what do you really know about marriage at that age? About relationships?

Curtis put an oversized Wint-o-green Lifesaver in his mouth just before we said our vows, and it clacked noisily against his teeth as he promised to love me forever. We stared awkwardly at each other when our unity candle ceremony didn't last nearly as long as the song accompanying it.

Curtis was sporting the fashionable blindingly-white forehead of a construction worker.

We had no idea what we were in for.

When you're that age, you haven't even become the person you truly are. You're still figuring yourself out, still learning how to navigate the world as an "adult" (and yes, that word is totally deserving of the quotation marks). And now we had to figure ourselves out as a married couple. We were both selfish. We were broke. The odds were stacked against us.

But.

We were in love, and we were determined. So against those odds, we built a life together.

I'm not going to be one of those wives who claims that every day, every month, every year has been beautiful and happy and sunshine and turtledoves. Unicorns didn't sprinkle magical anti-divorce rainbows over our union; it's hard work. At times, it's been an absolute shitshow. It's been his fault and my fault and a few runs of crappy luck that are nobody's fault, but still a struggle to get through.

And yet, when I think of all the hands we've been dealt in the last fifteen years, I know with complete certainty that there's no one I'd rather have experienced it all with. We grew into adulthood together and muddled through the growing pains that come with it. We've had some truly amazing adventures (like the ones I talked about in one of my favorite posts, An Anniversary Letter to a 17-Year-Old Me). We went from partners to parents. We have less hair and more muffin top, but we've gained a sense of permanence. We are each other's safe harbor, because we know this thing we have is hard to destroy. And we know from experience, because we've both tried to destroy it.

I can't say much about my wisdom at nineteen years old, but I will say this: I knew Curtis was the one for me when I realized I was more excited for the marriage than for the wedding. And our future still excites me.

(Mainly because we have this retirement dream of spending our days eating at ALL THE RESTAURANTS.)

So happy anniversary to the dude who drives me crazy in the best and worst ways. I am eternally thankful to him for so much - the fact that he didn't smash cake in my face at our reception, for one thing.

And the "Ugliest Cake Topper Award" goes to ....

Here's to the next fifteen ... and the next ... and the next!