Our first Valentine’s Day was spent in a cozy B&B in Chatham, Mass. In a blizzard. I remember the room was charming, the town was almost empty… and we both got ridiculously sick from our romantic V-Day dinner. Remember, quaint B&B, a bathroom in the bedroom but nowhere else. We had been dating for almost a year, but that was the first time my ears were privy to the sounds of Michael’s lower half.

It was also the first time he witnessed me curled up in the fetal position dying from stomach pain. And when I couldn’t take it anymore (because unfortunately, he was still in the bathroom), I ran around the house until I found a small bathroom smack in between two bedrooms. Bedrooms with people in them. I did not care. This was an emergency. After an hour or two, both of us finally able to stand again, we collapsed in the four-poster bed.

And fell asleep.

The year after that I lay next to him in his lofted twin bed (ah, college), holding a washcloth to his forehead and stroking his hair. His 102 degree fever lasted through the night and into the next day.

I’ve gotten comments before asking if my life is really as perfect as it seems. I have news for you, life isn’t perfect.  I may be one of the sappiest people you will ever meet, waving my love flag behind me wherever I go, but I know first hand that life is full of ups and downs.  

Today is the sixth Valentine’s Day we will celebrate together.  Some have been amazing, others have been just another day. I like the idea of having a day that celebrates love, but I know it’s not necessary.

Because every day, the up days, the down days and all the days in between, I love this boy. 

(And this one too!)

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