I don't know how I fell in love with my husband. It just happened. After 20 years of cautiously dating and agonizing and being afraid to fall for the wrong guy, I dove in headfirst and married David eight months after I met him. Maybe the timing was right. Maybe we were both tired of waiting. I believe it was just meant to be.
Six years later, I still believe it was meant to be. But that doesn't mean it's been easy.
A few months after our whirlwind courtship and wedding, I started seeing the reality of the situation: Our window-frame for having children was short (we were both in our 40s. We had to try now if we were ever going to have kids, and even then the chances were iffy). We weren't getting any younger, so if David wanted to go back to school to change careers (which he had been thinking of doing for years), he had to do it now. I was in a soul-crushing corporate job. I didn't think I could last much longer and my company was offering a voluntary termination offer. I could get three months of severance pay while I built up my freelance writing career again. If I was going to make my escape from corporate America, this was the time to do it.
But how would we swing both changing jobs (and in his case, a whole career) if we had a baby? If he went back to school and I had to work, who would stay home to take care of the said baby? If neither of us could stay at home, how would we afford childcare? And we couldn't put off any of our decisions. The clock was ticking.
Somehow in this perfect storm we muddled along, making decisions as wisely as we could. David started a master's program and got a scholarship that would pay for half the tuition. We saw this as a sign that he was moving in the right direction.1