So here's something: today is Annie 2.0's birthday. For those of you who are newer to my ramblings here, Annie 2.0 is my nickname for my friend here in Vermont, who is also named Annie, but is about eight years younger than I am. So, I'm Annie 1.0 and she is Annie 2.0. And together, we have very nearly survived the ridiculousness of the phenomenon known as "being married to a medical student."
Here is the trick to the business of medical school life: it can kind of knock the air right out of you. The schedule, the unpredictability, the intermittent exams and interviews that require travel and carry the weight of determining your future. Add in a kid, a difficult pregnancy, being 3,000 miles from home and you've got a recipe for a relatively challenging four years. But in the very first week of medical school, before classes even really started, I met Annie.
When I had strep throat first year and couldn't take care of my kid, she came and made dinner. We grew gardens together three summers in a row, she taught Mariam to love a corny joke, we have cooked innumerable weeknight dinners together, and I had to change my texting plan to accomodate our constant back and forth discussions. When baby Z. was born and was only minutes old, she and her husband Mark snuck into labor and delivery and were the first to meet him. She is the default editor of every issue of Alphabet Glue.
And here is the other trick to medical school life: it may feel impossible at regular intervals, but it is also temporary. Which means, that in a couple of months, Annie 2.0 and I will both be moving, to currently undisclosed locations that will be revelaed to us via sealed envelope this coming Friday 'round about noon. Being some semblance of a responsibile adult person, I am old enough to realize that finding good friends who love you even though you are super crazy is not as easy as it sounds. My best friend for my entire adult life, the ever-spectacular Natalie, has been known to call me up just so that we can have entire conversations centered around how much we wish we lived in the same place. Because we are both smart enough to know that having someone up the street who knows what kind of chocolate you like and who feels totally comfortable falling asleep on your couch after dinner on a Tuesday evening (even if they have to move your laundry pile out of the way to do it) is about as good as it gets.
So Happy Birthday, Annie 2.0, without whom I would have lost my mind a long, long time ago.