A humble Christmas tree, my bare feet. Our parents, his sisters, and a marriage license.

Today is my 12th wedding anniversary.

If you are doing the math you know that I am still 29 years old…and that means yes, I was 17 when I spoke my vows and signed my name. My new name.
I can tell you what led to this unconventional decision, except I don’t think it’s all that important. Nope, I wasn’t knocked up as I’m sure plenty of our friends at our tiny college suspected. Honestly, how many of you reading this were waiting for the bump?

I’d like to write the line: I said yes and never looked back. But that would be a lie. I have indeed looked back. Was I too young? Too naïve? Too ignorant or immature? Eh, perhaps. Did I really know what I was committing to?
Do any of us?

Twelve years is long enough to have some fights. Ones that feel like you are both communicating with a glass on your mouth so that you can’t get your point across nor hear what your partner is saying.
Twelve years is long enough to like each other, despise each other, and like each other again several dozen times.
Twelve years is long enough to make mistakes, memories, and history.

Previews blared inside a dark theater the weekend we got married. Our first movie as husband and wife. I looked back thinking, I will never, ever do this with another man (well, boy).
Packing boxes, a one-year old, and a six-month ripe belly holding our second child, and I looked back wondering, will I know myself apart from these roles?
Tears cut down our cheeks like rivers and I looked back to question if I’d chosen wrong.

I’ve loved every good and bad movie with him since.
This house that was supposed to be a rental investment has been the home where we’ve raised our children and grown as a couple.
Those tears have hurt us and healed us.

If I never look back, I would never have to answer my own question. Is this what I want, truly?
Every time, I do.