- 11 years ago
- Wedding: September 2012
I started with a world of possibilities.
I was bummed that my perfect Christmas engagement didn’t materialize.
I cried. I blew snot bubbles out of my nose.
He reassured me that 2011 would be the year.
We started playing this new game I came up with. The How Much Engagement Information Can I Beat Out Of You Game.
He lost a bet.
I made him narrow down the months. There went all the ones that didn’t end with a “y”.
Poor guy was trying to be funny, the days of the week all end in “y”; the months do not.
We’re left with January, February, May and July.
Since he was trying to be funny, I wonder if it will really be one of those months? He thinks, then he assures me that it will be.
I inform him I do not like May. Nothing good ever happens in May. Can he please reassure me that May will most definitely NOT be the month.
No May for me.
Some time later he pisses me off. I make him answer a question.
“So, will you be making an already special day more special or are you creating your own special day.”
A new special day he insists. Such a wonderful man, creating a day just for me.
There goes New Years, Ukrainian Christmas (for real), Midwife Day (perhaps stretching it), MLK Day, Groundhogs Day, V Day, my birthday, Independence Day, his birthday and we’ll throw in his mom’s birthday for good measure.
I program all possible days into my calendar. I set alarms to go off each day. Twice a day. I count the possibilities and text him the number.
He informs me that I am going to be so mad at myself later for coercing information out of him; that it will be perfect and amazing and there is a plan for such.
I press for more. I feel like a junkie. Ah, the high of proposal fever.
He knocks a few more days off of the list when I cry, when I get mad, when I take a deep breath and sigh that junkie sigh.
I bribe him for more, almost a blackmail. The ransom is a good hint. He tells me, I insist it will not do, another hint will be required; a better hint. He indulges me and takes out January.
Ugh, a longer wait. I wanted him to relinquish July.
Somehow we make the rounds again and February disappears from the ranks. The tears start to pour, my face gets hot. I’ve totally lost control and hit rock bottom.
“But,” I think, “that only leaves July. I don’t want to get engaged in July.”
I beg, I plead for it to not be July. July is hot and sticky and reminds me of getting engaged to my ex-husband. July is so far away I feel like I cannot reach it. July feels like a cruel joke.
He gets upset. The man with more patience for my crap than any human I know (besides, perhaps, my grandmother), more tolerance for my nagging than I thought possible and more excitement at the thought of spending the rest of his life with me than my pre-conceived Mr. Perfect has reached his breaking point.
I feel heartless. I feel like the kid who opened up all the presents before Christmas. I feel like an imbecile.
I feel alone. Like I don’t deserve him anyway, like I should just do this perfect person a favor and rid his life of me forever.
When he opens his mouth to speak I expect the worst.
He informs me that he has plans for me that are perfect, unimaginable and awesome plans. He says that I do not see or understand them now but that I should trust his judgement. He shows me that he loves me with this steady temperament, with these words that say: “I love you, I choose you and you are worthy of the best.”
He even lightens the mood, informing me that “The How Much Engagement Information Can I Beat Out Of You Game” was not to be trusted and perhaps his hints were wrong.
I can see the wheels turning. He’s thinking that if July won’t work he’s going to come up with something better. He’s thinking, “I’ve got to keep this girl on her toes now, I’m not going to let her ruin this for herself. I don’t want to let her down.”
I grab the game box. I put the board and the pieces back. I toss in the engagement dice of chance for the last time. I would put it back on the shelf but I know better. I’ll only take it out to play again if I do. I ask him to trash it for me by reassuring me that life is going to be as amazing as he claims.
We have a perfect anniversary weekend. It’s filled with love. I spend it stealing kisses, enjoying good food, having long conversations about anything but that ring, sneaking glances and enjoying his family and my son. Doing all of the things that have seemed pale in comparison to my “prize” for longer than I’d like to admit.
It was bliss.
In my desperation I forgot about possibility and probability. You see, It’s quite possible that I will have to wait a while. And it’s very probable that he has that perfect plan and he is going to knock my socks off when the timing is right.
As he’s sitting with my son tonight for bedtime I start to think about what life is like when I’m with him. This is the man who goes above and beyond for my son’s bedtime. He will read him every book in the house (with sound effects and hand gestures), fetch him water, sing him “Baby Beluga” and find just the right toy he’s looking for to sleep with. Why in the world would I expect anything less than amazing from him? As he says, He has yet to let me down, why would he start now?