“Here’s to 11 years,” my husband said.
“11 years,” I repeated and we clinked glasses—that were full of sparkling grape juice because we’re weird and aren’t huge wine fans.
Our anniversary was Monday and last year as you recall, we renewed our vows on the Grand Staircase of the Titanic. In the Titanic museum at Branson, that is.
But back when we were first married, we were only 19. And, as I’ve mentioned many times, I was seven months pregnant.
(Yes, I was wearing black. It was the only thing that fit my oversized stomach AND it was the only fanciest thing I had. Couldn’t afford anything new.)
We did not know what we were doing.
I mean, we DID, but we didn’t. Marriage is tough.
And add a baby to the mix and it’s even harder.
But we grew together and made it work because marriage takes work. A lot of it. There were a lot of tears and harsh words said over the years. But there was also a lot of love and tenderness.
I’m proud to say that I married my high school sweetheart.
I’m proud of the man my husband has become.
And I’m looking forward to spending my life with him.
(For a more detailed description of our story, I made this video a couple of years ago that sums it up.)