Gabe and I posed for this picture together last night. It was the first time in eight years we sat side-by-side and smiled for the camera.
Eight years ago, my daughter was born. And since that moment, the camera has been pointed at her, and later, her brother. Sure, there are photos of us with the kids, but after they were born, there are none of just us. Just me and Gabe. It never crossed our minds to take one.
It’s almost as if after we became parents, the “we” that is me and Gabe disappeared. We became mom and dad. Not Gabe and Deva. Not a couple, but more the co-heads of a unit.
Tomorrow is our 10th wedding anniversary. And thanks to Nonna, we were able to sneak away for a few days for the first time since we became parents. After a few hours of “Who the hell are you again?” we became reacquainted. We became us again. Not mom and dad. Just Gabe and Deva. Two people who love each other. Who chose each other. Two people who want to pose in a photo together. A photo I will cherish always. Not because it's a particularly amazing photo, but because of what it represents. That in all the madness, there is still an “us.”