Love And Marriage…And Baby Poop

My husband and I have a long history. (A long history!) We first met in 7th grade art class. I didn’t know him well; I was the “new kid in town” and he was the shy boy who sat at the table behind me. When the Halloween dance was announced — my first school dance at that! — I brazenly sauntered over to his desk and asked him to save a dance for “the witch.” (Yup, I was a stunner with my all-black apparel, wide-brimmed hat, green face paint and a wiry, black wig.)

Apparently that was endearing to him, because after our awkward first dance, where we held each other at a safe distance — i.e. no less than 16 inches apart — and a shared can of Coca-Cola, we started dating. We broke up just three months later, but that is where it all began.

Fast-forward a few years. We rekindled our relationship at 17 where we fumbled through the strange dating days by eating  dinner at places like Rainforest Cafe and watching Arnold Schwarzenegger movies in cold, dark theatres (on our first Valentine’s Day!). Somehow we made it through and became high school sweethearts. Soon after, we became that “college couple,” the carryovers from high school that everyone expects to split up by winter break. But we didn’t. By 21, he was my fiancee and by 24, we were married…

Read the rest of the article here.

(And a HUGE thanks to Bonbon Break for supporting myself and 13 other writers  this month by sponsoring their first theme, Simplify.)

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