And Game Boy Makes Three
Life moves fast. We’d always talked about children. When we first started dating we talked about life in the suburbs, matching minivans, basement game rooms. I may have even playfully promised to be the one to actually give birth. (This was supposed to be the future, right?) This, before even the font dates.
Life happened. Mint, Fever, Retro Game Crunch, for me. A Masters, a Doctorate, and teaching, for her. We travelled. All over the US, Reykjavik, London, Tokyo, Sydney, Melbourne, Belfast, Dublin. I spoke. She spoke. When one of us got tired of talking, would rather be doing, the other picked up the slack.
I spent the better part of 2013 in Denver helping my mom beat breast cancer. The girl and I had done the long distance thing before. For years out of college, chasing each other up and down the East Coast, always one step ahead or one step behind. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you want to do something.
Life was catching up with us. One of the things I learned in Denver was that I can care for someone—and I mean really support them—and not lose who I am. My brother and I were born almost a decade apart. I was an only child until I wasn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever fully kick the resulting selfishness but I’ve made some good progress. It was a hard year, but it was also one of, if not the, most productive years of my life.
So we talked. We’d been talking. For years. It’s not that either of us needed convincing. It’s just, you know, life. We got comfortable being us. It was always one big project into the next. Earlier this year, we decided it was now or never. Neither of us is old but we’re getting older. “Lowest of the high risk”, the doctor said. So we tried, prepared ourselves for having to try for a while, and it happened. Quickly. We are ecstatic.