Its four years, a wedding, two kids and a dog later and we're still living in Seattle. Izzie and George both moved to L.A. where they both own a private practice which left Meredith and I to her mother's house; the kids each having their own room. George is, ironically, in George O'Malley's old room and Taylor's in Izzie's. We expanded the kitchen and converted Meredith's old bedroom into a master with a bathroom attached, two examples of the countless changes that have occurred over the last few years.
"The kids eat healthy, why can't you?"
"George is two and Taylor's four. They don't have a choice. When they're my age, then they can have cold pizza for breakfast."
"You're not setting a good example."
"George? Do you want some of Mommy's pizza?"
He shakes his head emphatically from his booster seat.
"See? He doesn't want any."
"I want some!"
I raise my eyebrows over my pancakes, watching while she backpedals.
"Don't you want pancakes, Taylor?" she offers hopefully.
"Why can't I have pizza?"
I stifle a laugh, hiding behind my orange juice. She glares.
"You can. Here," she rips off some of the crust and places in a satisfied four-year-old hand. She gets up, sauntering over to the cabinet and humming softly. It's amazing that she can look this good after two kids, and it's amazing that she turned into a morning person somewhere along the way. I guess we both had to, with screaming kids waking us up in the middle of the night for four years.
She pulls out two plastic cups and licks her fingers before pouring them each half-full of milk.
I take one, letting our fingers brush lightly before we each set them down in front of Taylor and George. She smiles, leaning over her chair to pick an olive off of her breakfast.
"If the kids and I are going to order pizza in the future, I should remember to get cheese instead of everything. You always eat most of it, anyway."
"I'm surprised you haven't thought of that before now," she quips, "you're a brain surgeon, right?"
"I hope so. Otherwise I'd have a few law suits to deal with."
This is one of our good days, when the kids are relatively tame and Meredith and I are, for one, actually speaking, and two, actually speaking nicely. Most days we're arguing silently over the kids' heads', speaking through our infamous looks. Most days, she can't remember why she married me, until I remind her later that night, after the kids have gone to bed. But today, today is one of those days. One of those days that makes everything worth it.
"What time does your shift start?"
"Does it matter? With Mark as chief, we barely have to show up at all."
Her lips stretch again into a grin, "True. It's kind of sad, really. Addison, you and I getting all the perks."
"I don't feel so bad. He slept with my wife, I can show up late. Fair trade."
"Which wife?" she asks playfully.
My grin falls.
"You slept with Mark?"
She nods, still smiling.
I let out a sigh of relief, bringing my dishes over to the sink and running them under the faucet while she laughs.
"You're so gullible."
"Not funny," I mutter, half-playful half-serious. She picks up on the serious and stands up, too, crossing the kitchen and wrapping her arms around my waist.
"Not funny," she agrees and we have a moment before Taylor starts begging for attention and George starts begging to get down, "are you ready to go?"
I set my plate on the rack next to the sink, drying my hands on the towel folded over the stove handle and turning to lift George out of his high chair.
She holds up her hand in answer, which is firmly encasing Taylor's. I nod, and she follows me out as I lead the way to our car with George draped over one shoulder, leaving dirty plastic cups and legos behind that we can clean up later, after we get home from our shifts at the hospital, when the kids are asleep and we're wishing we could enjoy a luxury like sleep.
This, our chaotic, insomnia-driven life is our happily ever after, and I don't think either of us are willing to let it go.