18 and Married? (part one)

I can't find a consistent statistic to quote for the average age people get married, but I'm darn certain it ain't close to 18! (Please reread with a deep southern accent for optimal humor). People who get married at 18 are idiots searching for misery. That's me, idiot, present and accounted for. If that's you, too, keep reading so you won't feel offended...

My heart still skips a beat when I think about seeing Alex at age 17. True story: I drove around aimlessly hunting Alex down for hours. I love to tell my daughters the story of our McDonald's romance, only the less spicy version. Honestly, it was physical attraction and an animal-esque urge that made me waste an evening in hopes to spot Alex walking around Lakeside McDonalds where he often hung out with friends. Just when I thought to give up on the hunting expedition, there he was, walking on the side of the road. His blonde hair and bad boy strut were irresistible! "HEY! I met you the other night, right? Want a ride?", he responded, "I'm walking home, I just live right up the road.", then I demanded, "Ok, so are you getting in my car or not?"... Bullseye!

We spent hours that night driving around, chain smoking cigarettes, talking about our entire lives. I discovered two things: Alex is painfully attractive and almost as smart as I am. I was infatuated with him. I professed my love to all my coworkers and friends! Within a week, Alex and I had spent every evening together, and he asked me on our first official date. January 29, 2010 we spent a lovely evening at Chuck E Cheese; yes, a little kid arcade, but oh so fun! "We should call all of our friends and family and tell them we are together now!" And that we did.

The throes of young love were wild, passionate, and carefree for the next 6 weeks. I lived in a small apartment with my roommate, a dear childhood friend. We had parties, cursed like sailors, smoked anything, and loved our lives full of friends and laughter. I finished my first semester of college with straight A's, but this second semester I put studies aside for living life. I made sure to keep working hard: more money = more fun. One night we heard someone banging on the door. A friend wearing pants decorated in pot leaves and flaming blunts answered, "Yall be quiet! It's the cops!". I came to the door with a stoned smile, "Sorry officers, were we being too loud?", and they responded, "yes, this is just a warning to quiet down. If we are called again, we will need to come inside and see what's going on here." I told everyone we needed to be quieter, and we were lucky. But my wild roommate took off outside in search of his liquor bottle. And then a knock at the door, Alex came in questioning, "They just handcuffed your roommate and put him in the cop car." Thinking of memories like this, how did we survive those wild days?

Wow, six weeks had passed in a rush of fiery attraction; all it took was two tiny pink lines, like the rush of a fireman's hose, to douse out the red hot flame. I immediately felt the weight of an innocent life growing inside me. I also felt the nausea, hormones, and depression. Within a month, I moved back home to the safety of my parents' house, full of childhood comforts and familiar scents. Alex came along at first, doting over the life growing inside of me. He even proposed in April 2010 at the Roaring Run waterfall with such a shiny perfect ring. But my hormones were wild, my emotional needs were plentiful, and Alex was just a 20 year old lost boy. After I gave him the ring back and he moved out, we spent the next several months mutually annoyed with the other. We both felt rejected, hurt, and confused.

Alex was still spending time with wild friends making poor decisions. One night, the law caught up with him, and he faced criminal charges. The fear of sitting in jail while his first child was being born sparked Alex to start checking in on me more, and I welcomed the attention in the midst of extreme loneliness and depression. I had moved into a trailer, adopted a cat, and was utterly alone if not at work. I tried to work as many hours over 40 as possible to escape the eerie silence of my trailer while saving money for maternity leave. Our daughter's life was the glue holding us together - no more fun, no more flame, no more discovery, no more friends, no more laughter. We focused on work to pay the bills that would set up a comfortable trailer for us to raise our daughter. We lost ourselves, we lost each other, but stayed on the same path to parenthood.

December 13, 2010, not even 11 months after our first date, we welcomed our daughter to life outside the womb. A story for another blog, but what an exciting birth experience for an 18 year old. Alex would not move into the trailer with us since we were not married albeit an occasional night or two. I could only see this as religious pious and an excuse to get a full night sleep. After a couple months of sleep deprivation, loneliness, and intense depression, I decided to marry Alex so we could live and raise our daughter together. Even though I was breastfeeding and co-sleeping with my daughter, I simply felt alone.

March 12, 2011, just over a year after meeting, we were married by Alex's grandfather in front of our parents and grandparents in a small country church. That morning was a long hour car ride up a mountain to the church. I rode only with my mom in the car, following mapquest directions, and of course we were lost. In the midst of that panic, I sobbed to my mom, "why am I doing this? We are too young! I don't even know if we love each other! We are just getting married because we have a baby!" In my mom's calm fashion, "honey, you chose to do this, and it is the right thing to do." It feels like I blinked and then was walking down the aisle as my nervous wobbly arm intertwined with my dad's strong steady arm. Alex was so handsome in a suit, my parents and grandmas were watching, I was wearing my mom's wedding dress, and I kept thinking, "this is the right thing to do."

Spoiler alert: I am happily married to Alex now, almost 12 years from this day. My reflections of my wedding day have changed over the years. For many years, I dreamed up a "renewing of vows" ceremony on a Bohemian island where I would rewrite all the bad feelings away. I have balanced feeling thankful for such a beautiful day given to us by our parents and grandparents, while also feeling shameful for extreme doubt I held onto as I walked down the aisle. Now, I only carry blissful and joyful sentiments. The day itself was perfect - the weather, the family, the attire, the candles, the cake, the rings, the honeymoon night at Hotel Roanoke - all flawless. This was the day my favorite human committed himself to only me, and he has never broken that vow; how I wish I could say the same for myself, but that is part two...