Why, you ask? Because for the next 3 ½ months, Will and I are the same age. Or maybe a slightly less selfish thing to say is, “Happy Birthday to my wonderful husband!”
What many of you may not know is that, technically speaking, Will is almost 9 months younger than me. As an aside, this concept completely eludes Frances and George who insist that Daddy is a LOT older than Mommy because he is a good 13 inches taller. I have yet to correct them on that. But for those of you who are not fooled by our statures, Will was indeed born when I was already 8 ½ months old. I was crawling around, pulling up, sleeping through the night, eating everything that my three older siblings would give me; and my tall, strapping husband was a mere babe.
You would think that this small age difference would never be noticed—except that when you are 8 ½ months apart in age, this also means we were a full year apart in school. Will graduated high school in 1995, people. I graduated in 1994. Am I making any sense here? Do you remember the students in the grade below you in high school? Yea, me neither. And I’m not trying to be snobby at all—far from it. I was about as “uncool” as you can get in high school. But I was at least older than the kids in the grade below me. I had age on my side. Until I married my husband, that is, and advanced age was no longer a plus.
Now, for 8 1/2 months out of the year, I feel like an old woman.
So, to help me feel on (somewhat) equal footing, my birthday present to Will this year was husband/wife personal training sessions:
[Pumping Up With Hanz and Franz - one of my all-time favorite Saturday Night Live skits.]
What I failed to remember though is that while on paper one of us may seem more athletic than the other (active runner vs. 80-hours-a-week attorney; former swimmer vs. former Latin club treasurer; dancer vs. concert pianist), Will is freakishly strong and surprisingly coordinated for someone built like Goofy.
In all seriousness, we’ve had a great time so far in our three sessions (two individual, one couple) and can’t wait for the next round. The big catalyst for this present (besides the obvious health benefits) was so that Will and I could spend a little more couple time together. I often miss those early years of our relationship—the constant togetherness, the impromptu afternoon drives, the long, long walks we used to take on the weekends daydreaming about our future family, and the simple ability to hold hands whenever we wanted. The hand-holding might be what I miss the most. There is something special, intimate and equally innocent in that simple gesture and Will has the perfect hands for doing just that—soft, strong, but always warm. Don’t get me wrong, I am head-over-heels in love with my children and have an incredibly wonderful life that I wouldn’t trade for anything. But I miss Will and his hands, which are in much more demand now that we have four tiny palms (and four paws) waiting in line.
And now for at least an hour a week, I get him back!
Happy birthday, Will!