After 3 months of indulging my every anxiety, it seems someone is losing his patience.
After 3 months of indulging my every anxiety, it seems someone is losing his patience.
Some people take the beautiful, romantic, meaningful notion of a wedding very seriously, and others spontaiously decide to get married early, months before the wedding, for wholly unromantic but practical reasons like needing health insurance, and have to promise their mothers they won’t tell the wedding guests they’re already legally husband and wife because it would “take away from the special feel of the weekend” if guests knew that they already got married by signing some papers over a casual brunch with two friends and an underwhelemed waiter at Felice 64 wine bar on January 21st, right before heading over to the Women’s March to protest Trump and his pussy-grabbing, which is just kind of sad and ridiculous and bizarre and totally in conflict with the fairy tale lovey dovey-ness that society deems should be a wedding.
Which is why we did it.
Sometimes marriage is amazing.
And then sometimes marriage is opening the kitchen trashcan and being hit in the face with a hot, steamy pile of rancid ass-odor because your husband threw out an entire pot of right-off-the-stove broccoli, closed the lid, and left it there to fester, mix with and heat up the rest of the day’s trash.
So that’s where we are today.
In a pile of steaming broccoli-garbage.
Friend: “If/when you get pregnant one day, who will you tell first– Eric or Facebook?”
Me: “If you promise to vacuum once a day, we can get a corgi.”
Eric: “We’re getting a corgi regardless. I don’t need your permission.”
A 1st grader I tutor lives in my building and has met Eric a couple times….
One of the best parts about yesterday being the day I got engaged is that up until that point, I was certain it was literally THE most inconsequential day of my life. It was the last day before leaving for our family vacation in the Outer Banks, and I was just eager to get the hell out of dodge. All my tutoring gigs were on pause until September. My bags had already been packed and my errands already run. So when I woke up that morning, I had exactly zero items on the agenda. Come lunchtime, I had never felt more useless or like less of a player in society. I was sure that if this were the game of life, I’d be losing by a landslide.
As of 1pm, I still had not gone outside, was watching “American Dad” reruns on TBS (inspiring my Summer of George post), and texted one of my best friends the following:
It was not looking good.
Luckily, I had exactly one thing on the agenda to give myself a reason to live for the day– Eric and I were going out to dinner with our friends Carrie and Dan, and I was really looking forward to it. Mostly because it was a legitimate reason to remove myself from the denim couch and pretend that on August 18th, 2016, I sort of acted like a human.
And just when I was psyching myself up for entering the world of the living, this text came from Carrie:
I tried to save face by listing the meager amount of activities I had managed to accomplish in the past hour, mainly to prove to them, and to my soul, that I am one (albeit tiny) step above George Costanza:
So that was that. My one plan was gone, but at least my friend Emily had stopped by, so I felt like that could totally count as having done something significant. Clap, clap done. I could settle back into my couch ass-crater and not move for the rest of the night.
Then, less than an hour later, my sister texted:
“Well, you lucky, lucky bitch,” I thought to myself (because I’m dumb). Coincidentally, my schedule JUST cleared up! What a serendipitous world we live in!
Personally, I thought the nanny was being a bit of a diva regarding my arrival time but fine, WHATEVER, IZA.
Then, Steph dropped some terrible news:
I braced myself for the struggle of a lifetime, and specifically put on a sports bra and my loosest potato sack dress so that I would be physically prepared to maneuver that jolly little chunk of a child into his too-tight jammy jams.
Then of course I got held up on social media reading about Ryan Lochte’s douchebaggery and naked Trump statues (#America!) and ended up losing track of time. Suddenly, I only had 20 minutes to get to Steph and Andrew’s apartment before the nanny had to leave. It was hot outside, but their apartment is only 17 blocks away, so I forced myself to walk and not take a cab, mainly so I’d have one more item to add to my list of “Things I did today that prove I deserve to exist.”
But of course, rushing in the heat, and me being who I am as a person, I began to sweat profusely. And by the time I got to my sister’s apartment, all I could think about was dunking my head in a sink of ice cold water before the nanny left. I looked like hell in my sports-bra-and-sack-dress get up, my hair was in a particularly disheveled semi-wet bun, and I probably didn’t smell great.
Every part of me was sweating.
I went to open the apartment door, which is ALWAYS unlocked, but for some reason it didn’t open. This nanny is really something, I thought, rolling my eyes. Then I heard the Boog (aka Tyler, my 20-month-old nephew) whining. “Don’t worry, Boogie Boy, I’m here!” I said as the door was unlocked and slowly opened for me.
First thing I saw was the Boog in a tux, looking fucking adorable, if not a tad whiny/possibly traumatized and BEYOND confused. He was holding a sign, but to be honest, I didn’t process what it said (it said “Will you marry —->”), because then I saw Eric, and a ton of candles, and rose petals all over the floor (which I later learned were fake, just in case the Boog tried to eat them).
And even though I knew EXACTLY what was happening, for some reason all I could spit out was “OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” I mean– it was pretty fucking clear what was happening.
Eric started to give a beautiful speech and then, seconds in, the Boog began HYSTERICALLY crying. Even though I was very focused on Eric’s words, I couldn’t help but interrupt, point to the Boog and ask “Ummm…is someone here to deal with him?!” (The answer was no. Just us. Which sucked for the kid because Eric and I could not have possibly cared less about him in that moment. He may or may not have lifelong trauma stemming from this 45 seconds of sheer neglect.)
Long story short, the baby kept crying, then I cried a bit (but mostly just trembled and said “Oh my god” repeatedly), and then, when Eric asked if I’d spend the rest of my life with him, I said, “YES– OF COURSE! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!? YES!”
The Boog, at this point, had completely lost his shit.
So we picked him up, read him some Goodnight Moon, and shoved a pacifier in his mouth until he was calm enough that we could ignore him again. #parentinggoals
**Side-note: my sister was disappointed to hear that the Boog “blew it” in his proposal role. I, personally, thought it was absolutely perfect. All the biggest moments in my and Eric’s relationship have been kind of a shit show, but in the best, most hilariously imperfect of ways (which is how I like to affectionately think of myself and my life….”hilariously imperfect”). Examples: I showed up so drunk to our first date, I barely remembered it and then had to play along when he texted me afterwards referencing things we discussed. Our first kiss, which started off amazingly, ended with him telling me I’m disgusting. Then, on our 6th date, just as I decided that I REALLY liked this guy and needed to tell him about my dating blog (and his guest appearances on it), I was busted at the table by a high school acquaintance.
So to be quite honest, having a toddler cry throughout our entire proposal was not only fitting, it was just imperfectly perfect, and perfectly us.
And god do I love that little bozo (Tyler, not Eric. Well, Tyler and Eric.), so to have had him be a part of this most precious moment in my life meant the world to me– and knowing that Eric knew it would mean the world to me is just all kinds of meta perfection.**
Speaking of perfection, then Andrew came home. (Badum- ching!)
He whisked the Boog away to the bedroom so Eric and I could have a moment alone and attempt to let it all sink in (it didn’t. I was a mess.)
We then went to a lovely and delicious celebratory italian dinner in our neighborhood with Steph, Andrew, Zack and Eric’s mother (Eric was wise enough to bring me a change of clothes, because he knew EXACTLY how hot-mess-expressed I’d be). Eric’s sister and brother-in-law are in Georgia, but sent champagne and well wishes to the table. My parents and Jeremy are already in the Outer Banks, but we will be with them tomorrow and then for the next two weeks, so plenty of family time and celebrations ahead.
After dinner, I finally got a moment to call and FaceTime my friends, and so, barely able to contain my excitement, I did just that.
No one picked up.
But knowing that I would only make an actual voice call if I got engaged or someone died, they all quickly called back. And after the expressions of excitement and well-wishing, they all wanted to know if I was surprised– and the answer is yes, totally. I know that seems impossible, given that I joke about it all the time (both on this blog and to Eric’s face) and a proposal was clearly imminent. But Eric really did manage to throw me off, because I was 100% certain his plan was to speak to my parents while in the Outer Banks, and then propose when we got home in September. I told all my friends it would happen in September. Not only did I NOT bother to get a manicure, I actually took my manicure OFF yesterday morning to give my nails a breather at the beach, thinking I’d need to have them looking nice for September. So here I am, rockin’ this stunning diamond on the world’s gnarliest unkempt man-hand. I will be banging down the door of the nearest nail salon the second I finish typing this.
So, in summation, I slept zero minutes last night and am writing this at 5:00am on the couch, because I want to record and remember every moment, and that’s what I do when I’m happiest– I write. And as I’m doing so, I’m watching the sunrise, which is just beautiful and breathtaking and the most lovely way to start my first morning as a promised lady.
Never mind that the man I’m promised to is sleeping like a baby in the next room.
Literally didn’t stir once the entire night.
So he’s either very confident in his decision or he’s TERRIFIED to wake up.
Eh, either way– I’ll take it!
Eric preparing the Boog for my arrival…..