My husband Steve is in the other room, sleeping. He is quick to slumber, always dropping off like a toddler into deep (sometimes snoring) sleep regardless of whether he’s in our familiar bed on some strange hotel/condo mattress. I, on the other hand, have this brain with a faulty off switch, a body that resists unfamiliar cushions, traffic noises, lights. I am exhausted, but it’s a good tired, a happy tired, because I woke up this morning and all of a sudden, I am a wife. His wife.

The flowers were gorgeous. The Colorado weather couldn’t have been more beautiful. We climbed the hill after R and Lauren, as we rehearsed last night. My hair was curled, and my makeup was done. Steve’s suit was dry cleaned and Lauren’s feather fascinator caught the sun from above her ear. The musician played our song, and the officiant smudged us, and we called in the spirits of the West, North, East, South, Above and Below to bless us. Steve took my left hand and pulled me closer, and I tried to tell him to relax, to let his arm go soft, and then I realized that his arm was strong. It was all that held me up. And he would continue to hold me up, as he has, if I just let him be who he is.

I turned over my shoulder and saw my friends Kristin, and Dwight, and David, and Barbie and Helen and Wendy and some of their partners, and then my brother Eric standing next to my sister Kate, and my parents and aunt and uncle, and my brother Billy and his wife Raugust up on the hill with their video cameras, and it hit me that this is it. I had to remind myself to breathe, force my mind to focus on the here and now. Steve’s eyes were like magnets, drawing me to him. Here, his eyes told me. I am right here.

The officiant said something about the Beatles and Love, and I sang “The Way I Am” to Steve, barely making it through but finding that final note somehow.  He said beautiful words to me about me being his life, and his love. We bound our hands. I could feel Lauren standing behind me, feeling so special in her beautiful dress, looking like a princess. R was so conscientious about every part of his Best Man/Ring Bearer role. We made it through our vows with only a few stumbles by the officiant. The rings only got dropped twice, but they wound up on the correct finger of the right person (after quick instruction to the minister). And I didn’t care that it wasn’t perfect, because we aren’t, and the ceremony was us.

“I promise to love, honor and cherish you every day of my life. I will stand in the middle of the fire with you and not shrink back,” we promised.

The minister said another blessing, and the words flew over my head like doves. Steve gave me the longest kiss in wedding history–or did I give it to him–OK, we were both guilty of not wanting to stop, even with everyone watching. Or because everyone was watching. And as I stepped in for the kiss, a sigh escaped me, a sigh I didn’t know was waiting to be released, that holding of breath that began almost four years ago, the moment I knew I wanted him for the rest of my life.

We took pictures, and had a chilly pedicab ride through the city, garnering honks and cheers from people on the street. We arrived later than we intended at the party. Even with just 40 guests, I didn’t get to spend as much time with everyone as I wanted to. Steve and I did our party thing–working opposite sides of the room and exchanging long, distance-shortening glances. My blue shoes stayed on until about 3. The cupcakes, which we had to redecorate last night, were delicious. We were glad to have decided not to throw a garter or a bouquet (while I joked that the difference between getting married at 25 and 40 is at 25, you throw the garter and at 40, you throw the girdle). We helped our guests drink 15 bottles of wine and 6 bottles of champagne. The last guests to leave were my brothers, who met for the first time today and found–as I did when I first me Eric 5 years ago–they have much in common. We kicked them out after helping them finish off the amazing Veuvre Cliquot the salesman at Argonaut convinced us to buy (and he was right, best damn champagne ever.)

Tonight instead of going out to our planned fancy dinner at the fancy restaurant, we stayed in and watched The Office and Fringe on Hulu, picked at party leftovers and cuddled (hi mom!). The muscles in my face hurt from smiling. (Pretty much every muscle hurts right now, another difference between being 25 and being 40.) The hangover settled in hours ago, and I’d love to call it a night. But I can’t sleep, even as I listen to my husband’s deep breaths in the other room. The day feels blurry already, and I don’t want to forget a moment.