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The first (and last) time I went ice skating was when my mom took my brothers and I up to visit her parents. If memory serves, this was shortly after I got my driver's license — because I remember my brothers and I getting restless so mom gave me the car keys and a few bucks and sent us off to the skating rink to blow off some steam.

We were there for maybe five to ten minutes before I tripped over some little kid and landed on my chin. I didn't think much of it at the time. Sure, it hurt, but I've felt much worse. I got back up and started skating around again.

About the time we made it a full lap, back to where I fell, I noticed that there were blood drops on the ice. Someone was bleeding! As it turns out, it was me. (I gave my brothers a good bit of grief for not telling me my face was bleeding…) The pressure from the fall had popped a hole in my skin. So we went off to the ER where I got superglue and a butterfly, or something along that line.

A few days ago Megan and I were talking about something — I have no idea what — but somehow we ended up talking about ice skating. I told her this story, and that I hadn't been ice skating since. (For the record: Only for lack of opportunity… not because I was scared to.) She took this idea and ran with it. She decided to surprise me with an afternoon date on Valentines day; arranged to have Susan take care of Dylan, and sneakily packed a bag with my gloves and hat and an extra shirt so that she didn't have to give away where we were going.

It was a great surprise and we both had a lot of fun. I hope we get to go skating again soon, and often. Here's a 10 second video I took with my phone on the ice.

Dylan, today you are eight weeks old… or at least you will be at 15:47. I don't understand why people say that's not two months yet, (Ok, well, I do… 52/12=4.333 so technically a month is 4 and 1/3 weeks… but that's dumb. (Because 1/3 of a week is 2 and 1/3 days, and 1/3 of a day is 8 hours… so a month is — on average — 4 weeks, 2 days, and 8 hours. See? Dumb!)) and I don't understand why people count age in weeks after the first month (full disclosure: guilty!) and in months after the first year… but there are some things I do understand.

I understand that when you smile — which you are doing more frequently now — my eyes well up with tears because I'm getting my first glimpses into your personality and it really is amazing to think about where you came from and where you'll go; and it all sort of flashes before my eyes during that instant, every time.

I understand that you don't intentionally pee on my hands mid-diaper change, or immediately poop in a clean diaper, or spit up on clean clothes the moment you're snug in your car seat; that these things are par for the course and that all things considered we are pretty lucky to have a happy, healthy baby to take care of — to change diapers or clothes for 3 times in a row. So I am thankful for that.

I understand that one day you will be 18, and (probably) go off to college and leave this world behind you, totally unaware of how much life has changed for you in such a short time.

I understand that one day you will get married and start a family of your own, and only then will you understand and appreciate these things.

I understand that I owe a great debt of gratitude to my parents for all of their love and care which continues to this day, and I hope to have the same energy that they seem to when you are my age.

Megan,

When I went to the Hallmark store a few days ago (really! I swear!) I was simultaneously surprised and somewhat amused at the fact that there were two slots in the anniversary section that were empty: The one with the backing card labeled "Anniversary" (for, I suppose, the loving husband/wife who doesn't have time to read the card before signing it?) and the one labeled "Let's Fix This Together." Apparently there are a lot of relationships that need fixing this time of year.

I chuckled to myself because I know that despite our (sometimes frequent) disagreements, we have lived up to our promise to each other to never go to bed angry. We've yelled, and cried, and matured quite a bit — sometimes all in the span of a few hours (and usually it's me doing the maturing…). But at the end of the day, I know that we will have worked through our problems. You are my reason for letting go of things that got under my skin — whether they should have or not — and as cliché as it sounds, you make me want to be a better person. And you help me be that person.

I know that our son will have a strong, loving, devoted, and passionate Mom, and I only hope I can be your equal to him.

On this, our third wedding anniversary, I again find myself at a loss for words that feel adequate enough to describe my feelings for you. Maybe someday I'll find them. Until then, I hope you can believe me when I say that "I Love You" just isn't enough.

<3