Summer, summer, summer. The most glorious season of them all. This summer has been especially sublime. It rained on the Fourth of July, but otherwise it's been pitch-perfect: Warm, sunny days. Late sunsets and fireflies, which I can see outside my apartment windows. Lots of opportunities to eat ice cream.
As the weeks count down to having a baby (Three months away! And I'm at the point where I look at my belly and find it hard to believe that it can still grow and stretch for three more months. It's becoming uncomfortable, sometimes painful. But everything is still going really well, all healthy and normal, so no complaints.), Andrew and I are ticking things off our 'pre-baby-bucket-list.' Dinners, plays, travels, concerts, hikes... stuff we know will be more difficult to do.
Last night, we met at the Met's rooftop terrace, which I had never in my 13 years of living in New York (well, 11, minus the two in Paris) been to. It was awesome!
Such a beautiful evening, with dramatic lighting. I remember evenings in Paris with these kind of spellbinding bolts of light from above.
We grabbed a spot on the astroturf and admired the fashions, enjoyed the setting sun, and had a drink before part two of our delicious night: dinner at Alimentari e Vineri, a longtime favorite.
Nothing has really changed in our relationship. Sometimes I still call Andrew "my boyfriend" out of habit. And when I say "husband" or think of him that way, it just makes me smile. It's so funny: I have a husband.
Whatever I call him, I just look at him and smile: so handsome and charming and wonderful and easy to be around.