Each year on our anniversary, Charles and I drive across town to visit the place where we were married – The Thursday Club.
Last year, I was 11 months pregnant and very, very fat (also, I apparently had a horrid haircut). Instead of our celebratory champagne, I had sparkling cider.
This year, we brought Charlie.
He played in the grass.
We tried to take a family photo with the timer function.
Charlie and I played near the fountain.
He practiced giving leaves to mommy instead of forcing them down his throat.
Charles and I both got to enjoy an alcoholic beverage. Mmmm, beer.
Charlie hung out with Dad.
He hung above Mom.
AND THEN HE VOMITED ALL OVER THE PLACE.
There I was, appreciating the beauty of the moment, tearing up like I’m known to do. I was thinking about how we said last year that Charlie would be with us next time, and now he’s here and isn’t that amazing and aren’t we the luckiest people in the history of the wor–VOMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIT.
Charles: “And, we’re back to reality.”