This post originally appeared on our old blog Born to be a Bride.
Today marks two years since Josh proposed at Crystal Pier in Southern California, placing the perfect ring on my (thank goodness manicured) finger and promising to love me forever. A lot has changed in that time but much has remained the same. We moved to Dallas and later, DC. We planned and executed a beautiful wedding, also on the beach, but this one closer to home, in the Hamptons, New York. Josh took me to Europe (twice!), fulfilling a passionate wish I’d had since early childhood. First it was a romantic, just-because weekend in Paris, and later with our incredible two-week Italian honeymoon. (About which I can’t help but daydream, and often).
I remember the moments leading up to, during, and following the proposal like a beloved scene in a favorite movie. It’s never far from grasp and easily replayed when I need or want it. One of the great sadnesses of my life is the fact that my lupus often prevents me from remembering things, both small (like grocery items) and big (like engagements). Important events and sometimes, even long stretches of time are wiped from my memory and I often find myself playing catchup when friends reminisce. In an effort to ensure I’d never forget a moment of our engagement story, Josh wrote it down for me. The script is printed on a precious piece of paper and kept in a box in my closet. But I believe that our love has refused to let me forget, and so far I haven’t needed the script. It is, however, wonderful to know it’s there in case I ever should.
Our love is not stagnant, though it holds firm. It’s fluid and ever-shifting, branching out and growing as we do. I never thought I could love Josh more than I did as he knelt before me with that ring, but it turns out, I was wrong. I loved him more when we moved to Dallas and I was all alone except for him, learning to rely on him even as he encouraged me to make friends and supported me in upholding those relationships. I loved him more when we had the most serious fight of our lives, ironically exactly one year ago.
Fueled by wine and pre-wedding jitters, we both said horrible things to each other, screamed, cried — worried a little that maybe this was the end. I loved him more that next morning when I woke up and he was still there, and we had made it through the worst. And as I approached him at the end of the aisle on September 7th of last year, I loved him the most of all. I remember thinking, This is it! You’ll never love him more. He’ll never be more handsome or more tender, more open or more special to you — because this is the moment he becomes your husband.
But you know what? Today, I love him even more. When I jumped into bed to wake him and tell him the pregnancy test was positive, I loved him more than I ever had. And then again even more the first time we heard that heartbeat. And when we had a scare and thought our precious one was gone, he squeezed my hand and let me know I could be as crazy or sad or hopeless as I wanted to be, and he’d still be there. That made me love him even more. In this moment, while my beloved works like a maniac to support us that I can write and nurture this pregnancy at home, quietly, all summer and fall — I really can’t believe I could ever love him more than I do right now. But then I think of what it will be like to hear our baby cry for the first time, a human being who was created out of our love for each other. And I realize I have to leave some extra room in my heart — because soon, I’ll love him even more.