My wedding day wasn’t … normal.
I didn’t wear a white dress. I wore a light blue sun dress that covered a slight baby bump.
I didn’t rent a church. I made an appointment at a little white wedding chapel in town (an appointment that we almost missed because Josh was day-after-duty).
I didn’t walk down an aisle towards my future husband. I giggled alongside him when his wedding band wouldn’t quite fit over his finger that was so very swollen from dish duty on his first boat.
I didn’t have a reception. I held his hand through the McDonald’s drive-through on the way to pick Aubrey up from daycare.
I didn’t have wedding night jitters. We held each other and whispered assurances about the deployment just days away.
I don’t even have one single wedding photograph.
What I do have is a husband that I am still in love with thirteen years later, who still holds my hand when we drive, and who hides anniversary cards for me to find on our special day.
In this day and time, staying married for thirteen years isn’t exactly normal either.
I think normal is over-rated.
Happy Anniversary, My Love! Here’s to many, many more!