Love in a cup

Today is my 11th anniversary, which for some reason, surprises me. Of course I was married at the tender age of 13, so I'm still frightfully young and supple. (What? So I can't fantasize?)

I'm just taken short sometimes by how quickly life goes by. Eleven years ago, we were getting ready to beat a hasty retreat to the Bahamas right about now. Six years ago, we were in Rome on this day. Four years ago, we had a new baby and hubby was working the worst job in the history of the world. I was postpartum, he was miserable and we're lucky I didn't run away to become a carny.

Today I'm at home with three boys (only one is mine!) and wishing I had bought that bottle of bourbon that was on sale at the grocery store.

No matter where we are in our marriage, one thing seems to remain consistent: We know each other best.

Even when I fight against the definitions of motherhood, wife and woman, he still recognizes who I am. After I've been listed one too many times as "spouse" on various forms, he remembers my name. Although I still embarass him in polite company by claiming my title as "blow job queen," he still laughs and reminds me that I keep life interesting.

And when I get out of the shower very early in the morning after staying up much too late working, and there is a fresh cup of Starbucks orange mocha orgasm waiting on the counter, I know for sure exactly who is he too.