I’ve written three different drafts about how I’d like to commemorate my first year of marriage and this fantabulous man that I’ve married, but none of them seem genuine. They all seem pretty maudline and borderline Hallmark, so I’m not going to post them.

You know, everyone gives you reason to doubt your own marriage. It’s part of the right of passage, I suppose. You have the naysayers who say, “Well, the first year is the hardest, so be ready for that.” And then if you say it’s going really well, or nothing’s really changed, or you’re still the same couple you always were, they say, “Well, I guess the honeymoon hasn’t ended yet.”

Guys, it really can be just fantastic. It’s possible.

I’d love to tell you what I’ve learned in my first year of marriage, but I don’t think there’s any monumental lessons in there. We lived together for a long time before the marriage, so there were no really new surprises. (On the flip side of that coin: I have become a huge proponent of living together before marriage. I’m not sure you can get a realistic picture of married life without doing that.) Bryan and I had some SERIOUSLY rough patches through our courtship, so we’d already learned how to argue constructively. (Yes, it is an art.) We enjoy different chores, so our household duties have always been evenly split. And we enjoy taking care of eachother.

I remember a conversation with Debbie when I was 16 or so. I don’t remember how it came up, or what we were talking about, but she said to me, “Make your own money, Sarah. Marry a man who makes you laugh.”

I’m not naive enough to think that we’ll never hit a bump or that a new addition to the family won’t change things. But I think that we married for the right reasons, and that foundation is strong enough to last through the hardships.

And don’t forget my number one rule, which Bryan now uses as his signature in emails: “I think the key to a successful marriage is the ability to laugh at Bryan.”

Bryan, my honey bear, thank you for all that we’ve had, all that we have, and all that’s yet to come. You make my parachute yellow, you cranberry sauce, you. Love, your bunny.