So you all heard about Laura and Joey, right? Of course you did. After all, their “perfect love story” (puke, puke) made it into a book.
Well, what about me, huh? Am I any less important? I mean, it is because of me that Laura and Joey met after all. And my husband is one of the few—OK, so maybe the only one—who believed those two had a chance at happiness. Does our love story matter any less just because it is not as romantic? I think it is plenty romantic. More romantic than anything else in my life ever was. Besides, it takes more than just a bit of romance to make a marriage last like ours has.
And it has lasted for more than half a decade. Seven full years of wedded bliss. You may not think that is much, but when you look at my dating history, you’ll understand the big accomplishment. Before I met Toby, I hadn’t found a man I wanted to spend more than five weeks with, let alone five years. Who am I kidding? I never found a man I wanted to spend more than five days with! I mean, I had shoes that lasted longer than many of my relationships did.
And I bought at least one pair of new shoes every week.
Toby and I are still in love. Can every married woman say that after seven years? We’ve been through a lot together. We are parents—which brings any relationship to a whole different level. My own parents split up before my first birthday. Mom always said the way to know if a man truly loves you if he sticks around through the puking and dirty diapers. Toby not only stuck around, he did more than his share (especially with all the puking our oldest daughter did on him—every time he picked her up, I kid you not). Our baby girl, Belle, isn’t quite a year old. She has a rough road in front of her. Down’s syndrome pretty much guarantees that normal for Belle will be a lot different than for her big brother and sister. It has also brought a new sense of normal to our lives. And a new definition of love.
I’ll never forget the day the doctor told us, three months before she was born, that something was wrong with Belle. He suggested aborting the baby. Toby just squeezed my hand and told that doctor it didn’t matter what he said was wrong, “our little girl is perfect and loved.” I knew he wasn’t going to leave me or her. My love for him has only grown since that day.
But, that’s not at all romantic, right? At least, not romantic enough for its own book. I mean, who really wants to read about a couple of anti-abortion activists? Even if one of them does take the stage 5 nights a week, in a different city across the country, singing to millions of women. It’s not like what he says can really make a difference.
Right?
