Just the other day I had to ask the huz how long we have been married. No, it wasn’t a trick to get a present or a way to win an argument or a sneak attack way to make him feel bad; it was a serious question.
We aren’t exactly the most conventional couple, we never have been and we probably won’t ever be. I met him a year after graduating high school and within 3 months I was pregnant. Shortly after our one year anniversary and my 20th birthday we were living in a tiny apartment above the pizza shop the then boyfriend worked with our brand new baby girl. Fast forward another year and we were living in a slightly bigger apartment with our 15 month old baby girl and our newborn son. Nine years had passed before we flew to Vegas and eloped, despite my mothers desperate pleas for us to have a big wedding. I never even showed my mom the pictures of our “ceremony” for fear that she would have a heart attack when she saw me in my camouflage hat, large hoop earrings and a tank top while reciting my vowels. I’m sure she wonders to this very day if we actually did, in fact, get married.
As I said, we are unconventional.
Anyway, the other night after a little head scratching we both agreed that it would be our 4th anniversary this year, but as I started to write this post tonight I did a little more math and then looked back at my expired license that I got after we were married only to realize that it will be 5 years.
The point of this posting ultimately is to say that last week I finally changed my name at the bank. It only took me almost
four five years and I suppose I shared with you a little bit more about my crazy self.