Someday my kids will ask me how I knew their dad was the one. Maybe they’ll read a fairy tale and wonder about perfect love and Prince Charming; Maybe they’ll watch a movie and begin to visualize their own first kiss or first date or first crush; Or maybe they will be standing at the threshold of adulthood, standing side-by-side with a person of interest, questioning when and how and if they will make the commitment of a lifetime.
I will answer my kids honestly, as I do, and I will tailor my answer to their time of life and readiness for real talk, as I do, and I will hopefully inspire them to have faith in something that is really easy to doubt. This I will do in spite of the fact that doubt was a huge part of my early relationship with my husband, a function of my own less than stellar dating history moreso than his trustworthiness, of course. I recall in our first months as a couple when he handed me a gift with all of my favorite rom-coms, information piecemealed from many conversations we had, to appeal to the romantic in me, and in exchange I handed him a piece of my black and jaded heart, explaining to him that I did love him, but not unconditionally, and then went ahead and listed for him all of the conditions under which I would most likely cease to love him. At dinner. Over candlelight. On Valentine’s Day. Continue reading