Two.

For reasons I will never truly comprehend, he's chosen to saddle himself with my particular brand of crazy. For others, I've been too much...or not enough. But he? He chose to stay. When he says I know you -- you'll love that (or hate that), I believe him, because he does know me. And still he stays. And so I trust.

I can be ridiculously silly. Or excessively sappy. Or remarkably stubborn. I'm low maintenance, but I think I require a lot of...understanding. I cannot make a decision in a timely manner. I do things in my own time and in my own way. I probably drive him crazy a dozen times a day (at least). Yet here he is. He holds my hand on the puddle jumper airplanes when I get a little nervous, and rides Space Mountain to confirm for me that I really wouldn't enjoy it very much, and not once has he mocked me for it. I am a thousand quirks, and I run the range from pensive to chatterbox sometimes within the same hour on the clock, and though he teases me, we laugh and it's the banter of comfortable everyday love.

He said I do, and every day, he does. He hugs me before he leaves for work and kisses me when he heads to bed. And as he promised, he's taken this woman, to have and to hold, and and darn it, if this isn't the most fun I've had in all my life. Everyone says marriage is the hardest work you'll ever do, but it hasn't been work with him, not once, not before our vows and not after. Not that I've noticed anyway. But perhaps that's the best kind of work: the kind that comes so naturally, you don't know you're doing it?

We no longer qualify as newlyweds, and yet our marriage is certainly a baby in the grand scheme, but by the crazy math that comprises a marriage, we manage to be both one and two, in an easy give-and-take, ebb-and-flow balance, like we've been doing this dance forever. Whatever it is, I know I'd marry him again, every. single. day. Without a moment's hesitation.

Two is such a little number, but it's a lot of days, and in the grand order of things, the little numbers must precede the bigger ones. Thanks for keeping me and my barrel of crazy, Mr. P. It must be my lucky day.