15 years!

I'm sure most of the people at our wedding thought we were too young to be getting married. Some family members and friends had told us their opinions outright. Some kept it to themselves. But there were also a few in attendance who believed that we knew what we were doing.

I remember crying as I walked down the aisle (and throughout my vows), not because I was sad or anxious, but instead, overcome with the magnitude of it all. As a result, there are no pictures of me in that moment. I'm not a pretty crier.

I remember an epic toast by my maid of honor Erin who, perfectly balancing humor and love, convinced a few of those doubters that we'd be ok.

(my dad married us *inset heart eyes emoji*)

As my college roommate for 3 years, Erin and I knew each other in ways only roommates can know one another. In particular, and lucky for her, she was aware of my self-diagnosed disorder: P.F.A., otherwise known as Public Farting Anxiety. I refuse to pass gas in front of other people, to the point of causing myself discomfort.

As Erin shared my disorder at our reception with our closest friends and family, she went on to tell about a night I returned home from a date with Aleks. I came into her room and said, "I think he's the one. I farted in front of Aleks tonight."

And here we are, celebrating 15 years of marriage.

Aleks, you're still my favorite person. I hold you in highest esteem, respect you and your opinion, and am constantly overwhelmed by the way you father our children. Actually, I'm not sure we knew what we were doing 15 years ago, because I didn't love you a fraction of what I do now.

There is no better partner for me.

Thank you for being the kind of man who encourages me to let my farts out.