When I was young, I always thought it was so cute and perfect, the little nicknames people in love gave to each other:
I met you. I searched for the perfect name and found nothing. After maybe a year of being married, I called you “Trav,” but what kind of in-love nickname is that?
So, I waited for one to come naturally. You always called me “Love” or “Babe” –the latter a name you actually call all of the women in your family, which didn’t quite give it the perfect I’m in love… sort of feel, but the, I love you because we’re family, sort of affection.
But you do call me “Kait.” I’ve always loved that.
I think about the ways in which you call me. Whether we’re fighting or kissing, laughing or sobbing, the way you say “Kait,” the way you speak “Love,” in my direction is the sound of your affection for me.
“Only, I wish you would not call me ‘My Dear.’…’Lizzie’ for every day, ‘My Pearl’ for Sundays, and ‘Goddess Divine,’ but only on special occasions…You may only call me ‘Mrs. Darcy’ when you are completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy.”
Maybe we’ll never have this name thing figured out quite like Jane Austen imagined, or even as my young, dreamy heart did. Still, I’ll take a “Kait” or “Love” from you any day of the week, especially on Sundays, especially special occasions, and especially when you’re completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy.
I love being married to you.