“Last night, I got dinner with my husband and it was just us.
We sat at a bar booth and ordered wine and split food.
We lingered longer than we may have otherwise and we talked, about more than a day’s worth of usual.
And for a few minutes, it felt like before.
It felt like before, when ‘us’ meant the two of us, and not the four of us.
It felt like before, when they, the babies, were a pipedream, a someday thing, a ‘maybe when we’re ready’ thought.
It feels like forever ago that it was just us—who we were when we fell in love and when that love was the only love we knew.
What we did when the days were ours and only ours. Who I was when my body was mine and only mine.
Because the truth is that ‘us’ is more now.
And that’s the magic of babies and families and of raising little people.
There’s more love.
It expands and it grows in ways you can’t really understand until it happens.
But you know what’s also true?
That ‘us’ is what started all of this four years ago on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
That ‘us’ was enough.
That ‘us’ took this plunge (and oh, thank goodness we did).
That ‘us’ gets lost in the shuffle of the new, louder and more chaotic, nonstop ‘us’ of all of us.
That ‘us’ changes and ebbs and flows and moves and grows.
And that’s okay.
And sometimes? It’s nice to see just ‘us’ again—even just for a few minutes.”
