It’s my niece Brooklynn’s birthday today, and Dave’s calendar reminder beat me to the punch—something I still need to do myself. Later, we ate dinner and ended up lounging like an old married couple in our two faux-leather chairs, listening to Evelyn’s squeals as she narrated every detail about her toys to her oldest friend, Ethan, via FaceTime.
Dave glanced over, a sly look on his face paired with the cutest grin. “It’s also the estimated date of conception,” he announced with impeccable comedic timing.
Ah yes, that snowed-in day at the cabin. I remember it well, Dave. Kisses.
Don’t worry, I won’t traumatize you with baby-making details—but I do have a point. Dave is top-notch at inputting details into his phone. Every November, he reminds me of our first date at that coffee shop in Seattle. I got there early to pay for my own drink and to have a few minutes to acclimate.
I liked Dave early on. He was direct in a way that made me feel safe. Where other guys might endlessly text or try too hard on the phone, once Dave and I crossed the bridge of mutual interest, the coffee invite came swiftly and confidently.
That said a lot to me. Even with his demanding schedule as an Amazon manager, he made time for me—and kept making time for me. Just typing that brings a feather-light dusting of beautiful feelings to my chest because it fulfilled my deep need to matter.
Back then, I was seeing a therapist who was like a microphone to my inner psyche. She pushed me to be direct, to vocalize my needs, and not let fear silence important conversations. Her guidance came at just the right time.
On our third date, over deli sandwiches in West Seattle, I told Dave I wanted a family—something I had never vocalized so clearly before.
“That’s what I want too,” he said.
That moment still fills my chest until my eyes sting with emotion. For so long, it felt like no one could or should fill that place in my life. But then there was Dave. I still can’t fully believe it.
And yet, here we are—stitched together like an old quilt, worn in and comforting. It reminds me of the blankie I had as a child, the one whose outer edge eventually came completely undone. I used to run that frayed softness between my thumb and forefinger, finding comfort in its texture.
I used to think once Dave and I committed, it would be game over. We’d settle into the grave markers of married life, and the hard work would be done.
I was wrong.
A long-term relationship is filled with growing pains, moments when you lean so far away from each other it feels like they’ve disappeared. But Dave is always there. And walking down memory lane reminds me that choosing to build and fulfill dreams together is a choice I want to keep making.
I’m grateful he puts dates in his calendar—even when that means he knows exactly when our boots were a-rockin’. Choosing to have a child was the most significant decision I’ve ever made, especially because I carried so many fears about parenting, pregnancy, and childbirth that had gripped me throughout my life.
But knowing I’d do it with Dave turned that fear into something manageable.
The fears that once dragged me under now have less power. I’m not invincible, but I’m strong. I’m capable. And I know that falling apart, losing my way, and just being “less” on any given day is completely okay.
So here’s to love that shows up, even when life frays at the edges — and to the reminders, both on calendars and in hearts, of why we choose each other every day.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 