Eleven years ago, I walked into a bar. Not just a bar, but Prohibition. And I was with my law school girls and I was wearing black and swimming in Pinot, we all were. And the bar was almost empty, but we didn’t care. We girls lined up at the bar and ordered more wine, wine we didn’t need, but we wanted it because we were out and alive and blowing off a little steam before buckling down to study for finals. And I’ve told the story before, but soon, you were there by my side, gorgeous as ever, smiling. And we talked. About soccer and life and law school. You told me you’d just moved to the city, my city. We talked and talked.
That was it. Soon, you were surprising me with flowers and Diet Mountain Dew while I studied. Somehow, I made it through my finals and did well even though my mind was a happy mess, focused on you. Soon, we were fixtures on my old striped couch, knees touching, telling our stories. Our first months, and years really, were breathless and wine-soaked and wonderful. I remember them so fondly.
You swear to me that I made you agree to having at least three kids very early on. This makes me cringe because what was I doing talking about our future family when we were really still very much in the courtship stage? I guess I knew. We knew.
And we did. We knew. Here we are. Eleven amazing and blurry and hard and incredible years later. Years in which we’ve felt pain and changed jobs and moved homes and brought three beautiful people into the world. And these beautiful people? They exhaust us to no end, but they are also everything to us. They are our story now. And what an exquisite story it is.
Yes, I am tired. But more importantly, I’m in love. More so than ever. I thank my lucky stars I walked into Prohibition that night.