We married after just under two years of dating,
becoming engaged at just six months into our relationship. We were young, a
junior and a senior in high school, and many people warned we were way too
young to be married. It was not a romantic proposal, but a good story
nonetheless. As we chatted on the phone endlessly one night, he asked, “What would you say if I asked you to marry
me?” I challenged, “Are you asking?” Him:
“yes.” Me: “yes.” I knew I was young, but I was head-over-heels
in love and had always wanted to attend college as a young, married woman, not
alone. I am not sure why that was in my fantasy. The wedding planning began,
and one month after I graduated, and one year and one month after he did, we
were wed.

It was he who told me I was pregnant with our first
child. We had been trying for just a month, and when I had peed on the stick I
was way too nervous to look. He went into the bathroom, bringing the evidence
of a pink plus sign out for me, wrapping me in his arms and swinging me around.
He surprised me by painting our bedroom while I was pregnant the color I had
chosen and was planning to paint, telling me I was not to touch it; I was “with
child”! He held my hand during an emergency C-section, and hardly left my side
when our first child was born, having to spend nine long days in the NICU. 2 ½
years later I would tell him I was expecting again, with a hand-made card
“drawn” by our son, letting him know he was soon to be a big brother.
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