Unpacking my Baggage, Part 4

So it was when I finally gained some confidence that I met someone with whom a true relationship would form. This was my first real grown-up relationship. It also broke my nine-month record. When that happened I thought it'd be this grand moment for me, but by that point I realized that it didn't really matter as much as I had always thought.

(Note: I will be writing about this particular boyfriend periodically and, for the sake of confidentiality, I'll be referring to him as "Paris." This goes with the whole Romeo & Juliet theme. Paris, if you recall, was the man that Juliet was SUPPOSED to marry. That is, before Romeo came along to sweep her off her pretty little feet. Also, my daughter will heretofore be known as "Julietta." You know, like "little Juliet." Cute, right?)

I had actually known Paris for a long time but didn't know him well. We reunited at a friend's wedding, where the sparks started flying the moment we laid eyes on each other. In the months after we started dating, we would recall that night over and over again, how it was so obvious that fate had brought us together. There were so many signs, so many similarities between our individual thoughts and actions that night. I had never experienced that kind of connection with anyone before, and neither had he.

Our relationship was long-distance at first. We would talk on the phone for three hours a night, easily, and we'd see each other any time we possibly could. He made surprise visits often, which thrilled me. He also made me several mixed CDs with "our songs," and wrote elaborate emails about how much he loved me. He had an unprecedented passion for music, politics, food, adrenaline and me. And he was extremely good-looking. I was IN HEAVEN.

Paris was great with Julietta, and she was crazy about him. She was drawn to his endless supply of energy and enthusiasm. Sometimes I felt left out, watching the two of them have so much fun together. Yet at the same time I was grateful that I had found this seemingly perfect guy who loved my daughter and whom my daughter loved.

All that time that I'd been searching for the right man, I'd foolishly believed that, when it comes to Julietta, the guy just had to be someone who really cared about her. So when Paris had passed that test, I thought the coast was clear. However, I learned the hard way that a person can love my daughter till the day is long, but if he can't accept ALL of the nooks and crannies that come with our unconventional little family, chaos will ensue. 

Before I knew it, Paris and I were fighting almost every night. And they were not you-left-the-toilet-seat-up-again fights. I'm talking hard-core, earth-shattering, heartwrenching fights. The kind that would leave us more confused coming out of it than going in. The kind that never seemed to have a solution, no matter how desperately we tried to find one.

But we still loved each other with a passion, and we still believed that we were meant to be together. I think we were also stubbornly determined to make it work, whatever the cost. We were insistent on fitting that square peg into the round slot. 

So, what did we do?

We got engaged.