I remember, when I was first seriously in love with Andy — like introducing him as my boyfriend to anyone who looked our way, reading something that declared seven years in a relationship equals one of two things: true love or divorce. Eight years later we married and we’ve now been married for seven years. Happy to report it’s true love over here.
I know it’s unusual that I met my guy when we were 12. That I’ve had a crush on him since then. That he was starry-eyed over the class photos of me that adorned on my aunt and uncle’s fridge, even the one where I chose to wear a canary yellow ribbed shirt under overalls that were two sizes too big.
It’s funny to me now that I questioned (and even felt frustrated with) our love-at-first-sight energy. But I did. Because, when I was 19, I wanted to travel the world! Fall deep in love and have my heart broken! Date around like a regular ol’ single gal! It quickly became clear that none of that was my fate. I am so happy I grew up with this man and then grew alongside him to where we are now. From holding hands in the Roman Theater in high school to holding hands while I pushed our kids out of my body. He’s the greatest person on the planet, I think.
Happy Anniversary, love of my life.
In this week’s mama digs, I wrote about the stash of rainbow, ahem, balloons Ruby found in my bedroom. Are all of your friends talking about vasectomies? Click to read my weekly column mama digs: colorful balloons.
