Engaged

During the week he wakes early while I continue sleeping. Every morning in the hazy light, he leans down to kiss me good-bye. I'm usually burrowed under covers, and I hear him laugh as he searches for me.

When we arrive home from work, we hug and sway, spinning around slowly. It looks like we're dancing. Ian asks, "Why do we do that?" I reply I don't know, but it's comforting.

Later I chance upon an article that explains the science behind something we already know: rocking relieves stress and provides comfort. It's why mothers rock babies to sleep and people sway back and forth at concerts.

The New York Times recently published an article about the brain on love: "If you’re in a healthy relationship, holding your partner’s hand is enough to subdue your blood pressure, ease your response to stress, improve your health and soften physical pain."

It sounds obvious, but it goes a long way in explaining why I've felt so calm over the past couple of years.

We constantly scheme about our next big move: enterprises, non-profits, homesteading. We're still so poor we can only dream of some things. We share politics and ideology. We share a similar approach to life.

When I was younger, my friends dubbed me "Logical Laura." When Ian and I began dating, my practicality was one of the first traits he noticed.

One night in those early days, he remarked, "You're very pragmatic." I replied, "Yes, I am." It's a trait that makes me feel disconnected from other women sometimes, but it's a trait Ian admires. I can be myself.

One of Ian's friends suggests a nail polish color for me, and Ian instantly feels amused. I haven't worn nail polish since I was a kid. He knows me better than anyone.

I sometimes feel like I bring him down. When we began dating he would send me romantic messages, and I would feel embarrassed and wouldn't know how to respond.

Ian: "I tried to romance you."

Laura: "I know."

Ian: "You weren't into it."

Laura: "Nope."

He expresses himself with ease. He talks about his day, the people he encounters, how certain plants and animals make him feel, why he loves nature, and the things he's learned. He people watches all the time. He's intuitive.

I'm often quieter. I find it difficult to express myself sometimes. It drives my mom nuts. He knows when I'm upset because I grow very quiet.

We attend a party where I laugh and joke with friends. A guy makes harsh comments to no one in particular. I shrink back, silent and suddenly exhausted.

Ian whispers in my ear, "Are you okay?" I whisper back, "Yes."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Yes."

So we go home.

He is a gentle man, so gentle that we make off-colored jokes about the domestic violence he supposedly incurs and then roll with laughter.

We go to a thrift store, where he examines the tools and spots some shelves he'd like to buy. He also sees a dainty picture book about cats, containing a drawing of two tuxedo cats who resemble his own. He opts for the picture book. He chuckles at himself: "I could have gotten shelves but instead I got a book about cats."

He loves tinkering with electronics, taking things apart and putting them back together. And, of course, he loves the natural world. He sees a beauty and calmness in nature that many people overlook. He plaintively wonders why modern society eschews the natural environment. His favorite word is "sustainable." 

We talk about our past, about our bikes and pets and parents and the things that brought us joy and the events that brought us heartache.

We talk about the present, which wholly encompasses the two of us. When I think about my life now, I think of Ian. And we talk about the future, a future we will share.

Ian and I got engaged in early December 2011. Over the next several months we quietly told friends, prompting many, "Well, duh" reactions.

Since our first date in October 2010, we've done everything together. Every decision is a mutual decision: every dinner we eat, every show we watch, every appliance we buy.

Ian is my first truly serious boyfriend, the only one I've lived with. I remember feeling nervous about sharing everything with him, but it quickly became innate. I became a part of him and he became a part of me.

I can see crow's feet around his eyes when he smiles and gray hair in his widow's peak. I look at him and try to envision what he'll look like when he's older.

He's two years older than me. When I was 19, I took a sociology of marriage and family class. My professor warned, "Ladies, marry someone a few years younger than you if you want to avoid widowhood. Women outlive men."

I think of that and hope he and I live for a long time yet. I realize that I don't mind growing older, because I will be with him and he will think I'm beautiful. We crawl into bed late one night, and he tells me I'm beautiful. I suddenly feel shy even though he's told me many times before.

We both agree that we already feel married. In my own quiet way, I feel jittery with excitement. I can't want to become Mrs. New Daddy.