we were then: happy birthday to my husband

Thirty-plus hours into labor twenty-five years ago, the hour ticking slowly toward midnight, I had a choice—deliver this baby of ours on July 19th, so that his special day would always stand alone, or deliver him a few minutes later, on July 20th, so that he and his father would celebrate the big day on the same day each year.

We opted for separate birthdays.

The baby was born, and then, minutes later, just after midnight, I said happy birthday to my husband.

A baby now 25 years old. A marriage 29 years old. An ageless husband.

Happy birthday to the artist I love.