Holy Cow

Friday, I had a bridal shower. And I was given more kitchen supplies than I will ever actually be able to learn to use. And how said kitchen supplies are going to fit into our just-under-five-hundred-square-foot apartment, I haven't the faintest idea.

Saturday, I turned twenty-one. Other than that, nothing of consequence happened yesterday, except that I did a very grown up thing. Namely, Andrew and I purchased a patio table for our new apartment! It does not necessarily look grown up, seeing as how it is bright yellow; however, I sure felt grown up strolling around Target with a buggy filled with a patio table and chairs.

All of that being said, I had sort of an epiphany this weekend. I am not sure what brought on my sudden revelation, but somewhere amidst the happenings of the weekend, it just hit me:

I am getting married.

I do not know how to be married.

Andrew doesn't know how to be married either.

I just turned twenty-one. Should twenty-one year olds even be allowed to get married?

I am simply not convinced.

Let me clarify: I am excited to be married. I am excited to be married to Andrew. I am excited to run weekend errands with him; to go on evening walks with him; to learn how to live with him; to learn how to cook for him; to decorate our little apartment; to begin life together in our little apartment; to go our separate ways during the day, and then relax on the couch each night and give one another a recap on how our days went. I am excited just to be with him.

But I am also kind of sad.

My mom and sister went on a walk without me this morning. This is not odd; it happens often. I never went on walks with them when I was in college. I was at school; they were at home. They walked without me. I never thought twice about it.

But this morning, I had a breakdown when I realized they had gone on a walk without me. There they went... leaving me behind (with good reason; I was in the shower), when they knew good and well that they only had two more months of walking with me before I would be gone (and, by "gone", I mean that Andrew and I will be about six miles away, but that six miles seemed very long this morning in the middle of my catharsis).

And they did not seem phased by this at all.

This is the point at which I lost it.

Their lives are going to go on as if nothing has changed. They will still walk every night. My not being here will not make a bit of difference in their routine.

And I am going to have to get used to not seeing them every day... Not going into my parents' room at night to tell them goodnight... Not running Saturday errands with my mom... Not sitting in the kitchen on Sunday morning when Daddy makes his biscuits to take to church... Not going to church with my parents... Not going on walks with them each evening.

Voluntarily leaving the comfort, security, and familiarity of my family and my home, in favor of the total uncertainty of marriage to a person I have known for only a few years.

Choosing to give my life, my heart, my everything, to him. No matter what.

It kinda sounds crazy.

But then again...

It kinda doesn't.