My husband is a really good man. I feel so happy for our son that he gets to have such a good, loving, funny, creative, and thoughtful dad. For some years in my twenties I wasn’t sure I’d find the right partner to be a parent with. I considered mom-ing it solo.
And then I met Greg. Five months into our relationship we decided to move in together (the actual moving in together didn’t happen for a few more months, but we made the decision 5 months in). Around that same time, my mom was dying, and Greg brought up the idea of getting married before she died. I didn’t want to– I wanted my mom’s death to just be about that, and for our eventual wedding to be about us, and not about rushing it so that my mom could be there. But it was so incredibly touching and beautiful to me that he offered.
We both knew that this was it early on. Maybe my mom dying made things get serious more quickly, but really I think it was because we were both ready. We recognized our partner in each other, and we were ready for it. With open hearts. A year and a month later Greg proposed in Paris. I said yes.
Here we are at a friend’s wedding in September 2015. Little Smokey was already a tiny cluster of life in my belly, about a month and a half along (the same age as our new marriage), but we hadn’t told anyone except our parents and siblings.
I love being pregnant. I love our growing family. I love my husband.
Here’s to seven and a half months of marriage. Seven and a half months of baby in belly. Three years and four months of being together.
Here’s to this almost 30-year-old dude who makes me smile, laugh, and love better.
April 7 is his actual birthday, and by that time I’ll be even more pregnant (exactly one month from our due date), making him bring me drinks and food and rub my feet. I’m just feeling very grateful that he was born, and wanted to say so now.