I remember my friend Scott once telling me about his sister-in-law’s first Sunday attending church in a ward of married students. The speakers, like most of the congregation, were wide-eyed newlyweds. They introduced themselves in the following manner:
We just got married. We’re LOVIN’ it!
And we started a new semester. We’re LOVIN’ it!
And we just moved into a new apartment. We’re LOVIN’ it!
And so on and so forth. Trent and I have spent years mocking this, until a few weeks ago when we found ourselves making similar introductions in all sincerity. Life is getting into a groove in Charlottesville and guys, we’re lovin’ it. We really, truly, annoyingly are.
Our apartment, even sans dishwasher, is lovely. It’s got warm wood floors and lots of charm and our furniture filled in nicely. It’s in a good location, close to grounds (UVA lingo for “campus”) and a Trader Joe’s so I can splurge on $3.99 bunches of fresh flowers at maximum convenience. We still have a washer and dryer sitting in the middle of the kitchen waiting for us to figure out how to hook them up. We hung curtains that are either slightly too long or too short in every room on every window. And the view from my bedroom is a perfectly framed dumpster, but hey—at least we don’t have to walk far to take out the trash. I’m a woman whose emotional state is highly affected by the state of her living quarters and I’m sitting pretty at the moment, all things considered.
Trent is also loving school. Like, he’s on cloud nine. (I just Googled the phrase “cloud nine” to make sure I was using it correctly. Fruitless search. Where does that come from? Anybody?) I think he appreciates how good a fit this MBA program is because he has things to compare it to, things that were a bad fit. I know I do. The difference in his level of enthusiasm and overall happiness is striking here at Darden. I do not mourn medical school one bit. Trent and business are like peas and carrots.
And I’m lovin’ the days that are passing like woah. My baby is nearing six months. How did that happen? For the love of every cliche in the book, where does the time go? I fall asleep surprised and I wake up surprised—this time is so simple. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s strangely simple. So few things in the world are. I find myself clinging to this phase already. Don’t go, sweet simple days. Who knew I’d feel so content in this? Scout and I go to the library, explore walking trails, cuss the DMV. We make meal plans and grocery shop and then watch our fresh produce and good intentions go bad until Trent pulls something processed and sodium-rich out of the freezer and saves us all from starvation. We lay on the floor and play with toys. We splash in the bath. I read books. Scout slaps books. I freestyle lyrics to children’s songs I didn’t realize I’d forgotten. Scout laughs. Oh, she laughs. And on my honor, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to hear that sound every day.
I’ve pared down my journalistic gigs these past few months so I can devote some serious time to creative writing, because I feel like I’ve been a sufficiently tortured soul for a sufficient number of years. And because I feel like I have something to say. Because why not me? And why not now? And why not love the life you’ve chosen?
Listening to: Buck Owens, “Act Naturally”