I got engaged 12 years ago today. Now, if you know me, you know that I am absolutely horrible with remembering dates, so I cannot take the credit for remembering this momentous occasion in my life. Thank you FaceBook memories for all the reminders – the good and the bad. (Side note – that’s why I am an over-poster on social media – it’s not entirely to annoy everyone I know (and don’t know – I’m an equal opportunity friend accepter) – it’s also for the reminders years down the road of what I was up to, how cringey I really was at every point along the way and how dang cute my kids were at one time.)

It is no secret that Ash and I accidentally created the awesomeness that is Jack before we were even ready to consider any kind of betrothal. Hell, if I’m honest here, I didn’t even know if I still wanted to date him. But life and/or God had other plans for us. We were living in Denver. Ash was working at a golf course. I was working at Heritage College for the Hungry for Candy (not actually the name but there was a candy bowl in the registrar’s office and the students spent a lot of time robbing that candy bowl blind – and I was supposed to stop them if I knew they’d already had a piece. I didn’t FYI. Have all the candy you want was my motto. Perhaps I was not the best employee they’d ever had. But also, that college went out of business. Probably because of the blown candy budget.) Anyway, one day, before I went to work at said “college”, I was meeting Ash to hit golf balls at the driving range at the course where he worked. We were not yet aware that I was pregnant; however, that day, my clothes were fitting a little tighter than normal. I thought I was just getting fat, but I didn’t think it was noticeable, and I certainly didn’t think my boyfriend would notice and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to mention anything about it. Well, this is Ash we are talking about, and he was stupid enough to mention it. I believe his exact words were “Kellie, I think you need to buy some bigger clothes.” Ass. Hole. I dropped my driver where I stood, told him to go fuck himself, stormed off in a huff to my car and burst into tears. That should have been our first clue that I was in the family way so to speak. (I also skipped lunch that day. Obviously. Since I was so fat and all.)

That evening at Heritage College for the Hungry for Candy, I started feeling really sick. I went to the bathroom, hovered over the toilet thinking I was going to lose the contents of the nothing that was in my belly (which could only mean I’d definitely be skinny again) and passed the fuck out on the floor. Once I came to, ghostly pale, clammy sweat clinging to my upper lip, dots in my eyes, head in that foggy feeling one gets when they’ve come to, I left the bathroom in a daze, got stopped by one of the “Professors” (I use that term loosely, I’m not sure Heritage College for the Hungry for Candy had any qualified “professors”) stopped me to see if I was ok. I told him I wasn’t feeling great and had just passed out in the bathroom for a tick. He asked if there was any way I could be pregnant. (This was back in 2009 when you were still allowed to ask those types of questions without anybody thinking twice about it). I said absolutely not, there was no way I could be pregnant. (Side note boys and girls, if you’re sexually active and still have all your reproductive tools and your partner has all his reproductive tools, no matter the precautions you may be taking to avoid said pregnancy, there is still absolutely a chance, no matter how slim, that you may be pregnant. And there’s your sex ed lesson for the day.) And that should have been our second clue that we were up the duff. But we were young. And dumb. And clearly in denial.

To make a long story short (lies – I never make any story short), I was, in fact, 100% pregnant. And on June 1, 2009, Ash Jones and I (and our young pup Bogey) walked to a park near our house. We sat on a bench together, both kind of quiet, pondering the unknown journey ahead (unknown is the biggest understatement of my life/our lives). Ash Jones told me how much he loved me. He got down on one knee and he asked me to marry him. I obviously said yes, but I’m pretty sure my first question was “did you ask my dad for permission”. Such a romantic, I am. (One more side note – weird that asking a grown woman’s father for permission for anything is even a thing.) He slipped a gorgeous solitaire diamond ring on my left ring finger. It didn’t fit, it was way too big, but I didn’t care. I had found my happily ever after. It didn’t look how I thought it was going to look, but that made it even better. We walked back home hand-in-hand, all the while Bogey trying to bite the diamond off my finger. I guess she was a little upset she didn’t get something shiny, too.

We were young. We were happy. We were terrified. We got married 2 months and one week (give or take a couple of days) later in a very short, very hot, very awesome ceremony surrounded by about 26 people. And a little over 4 months after that, we had our first child, a boy, that is certainly destined to do amazing things in his life.

Yesterday I woke up mad at the world. I avoided my friends. I was not the best parent you’ve ever seen. And I was sad to my core. And just so goddamned mad at the world (excuse my language). And that’s ok. We’re all allowed to be all of those things at any given moment. Because that’s how life is.

Today, though, today I am happy. I love thinking back on all the things Ash and I shared. Because in hindsight, we were perfectly imperfect. Sometimes we were amazing. Sometimes we were assholes. Sometimes we couldn’t get enough of each other. Sometimes we never wanted to see each other again (or so we thought). What I wouldn’t give to see him again, now, though.

Life moves on, and my children and I are moving on with it, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of what my life was. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about what my life is becoming.