Five.

Dear Jay,

Five years of marriage is totally a milestone, right? It has to be. What is the gift? ~hold on let me look it up~ OK I HAVE IT. Glory this is so perfect. (for those of you who don't know, I am incredibly gifted at spending Jay's money on himself for very thoughtful gifts) Five year anniversary gift is 1. originally wood and 2. some random new list silverware. This is RIGHT, Internet, because you know you love the built-in shelf I just had done for us AND you recently said you hated our silverware. So, the wood part of the gift is handled, let's pretend I knew about that in advance, and I'll happily drag you to Pottery Barn, your favorite place, for a silverware-hunting anniversary outing. 

After this, I am giving up gift-giving duties for the next five years. You're up! I'll resume at 10 years. 

This has, obviously, been a very long way to say that I got you nothing for our anniversary. Besides the gift of my charm and v full-of-baby uterus, obviously. 

I'm unsure on this day if we should be recapping the last five years or the last year, so we obviously should do both. This last year, though, has felt like five in terms of whatwearedoing, hasn't it? It also feels vaguely like five years since we've had a long meaningful conversation or outing together, through no fault of our own I think. I'm super duper excited for tomorrow (our actual anniversary)! 

This year I resigned from two jobs and got one new one. You got a new job this week! We got a puppy. We renovated the house. We got a new bed! We got pregnant and I agonized over certain infertility. Beck turned two. We went to San Diego and, per my calendar, about 8 other places, some together, and some separately. Uncle Robert died. You got a third surgery on your leg. I got a new car. Beck yelled WHAT THE FUCK in Target while searching for curtains for the baby's room and I swear I wasn't even in any kind of mood. This is absolutely your fault. 

With that list, I'm realizing that the five year list is too much to mention. Countless jobs, house projects, losses, weddings, tears, firsts, and lasts, but somehow it still feels like just the beginning. This could be because I have SO MANY good ideas for the house, but maybe it's because we have a great life that we mostly enjoy and it's fun to grow and change together. 

Change is hard. One thing I think that we're good at, though, is embracing the discomforts of change for the better that we know will follow. I'm so excited for your new job, and so fearful of how it'll affect the carefully constructed work/life balance we have. I know you won't do anything to mess with that on purpose, and you know that none of my fears make me any less happy for you. I'm SO proud of you, and I hope you're just as proud of yourself that your bosses see in what you what I do. 

Thank you for acting like participating in your child's life is a normal activity. I could go on and on about this, but when you have an early cancellation and immediately come upstairs to say "I don't have xx at 9 anymore, so I can drive so you can get to work earlier" I appreciate it so much. We have very different work situations but you don't act like yours is more important than mine and I cherish that. Of course, it goes without saying that NO SHIT EVERYONE SHOULD DO THIS, but that's not always the case and I'm glad I don't have to beg you to parent equally with me. Beck obviously loves you more too, so that helps. 

Year six is going to bring more change and, with it, more opportunities to grow together, to grow separately, and celebrate both of those things. I don't expect that a new job, new schedule, and new kid will bring about a ton of rest and relaxation, but I'm ready to run into it all with you, my love. 

I will obviously go buy silverware myself and if you hate it I will take it back and we can continue to use the same mismatched stuff that came from....where did it come from? Pretend to be surprised. 

Love,

Lindsay