#powerlove

Text-based witty repartee ensued, in which I put next to zero stock after too many experiences getting excited about text exchanges only to have zero chemistry in person, and we planned our first date. As a general rule, I keep first dates simple and short; we can always extend or plan another if we want to spend more time together, but I like to have an out without having to make up an excuse if it’s not going well. In keeping with that rule, we agreed to meet for coffee, exactly an hour and a half before I needed to be at the hospital around the corner for an MRI (just for lower back pain, so no need to worry).

I came away from that hour and a half feeling, perhaps for the first time in my entire life, that I had met a man who could actually keep up with me. It was a surreal feeling—a surrealism that would foreshadow the weeks to come. The texts started up again the second we were out of each other’s sight, and continued, for hours at a time, for the next few days while he was traveling for work (including for an entire evening he spent with his out-of-town friends, who were wonderfully understanding). By the time he raced, or rather slogged, through a road trip home and rush hour traffic to make it back for our second date, we both knew (though hadn’t told each other yet) that we were falling for each other. I always know I’m falling for someone by the songs I start singing, and Ani’s “Falling is Like This” and Elvis’s “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” were on heavy rotation. Leading up to that second date, though, my trepidation was mounting: he didn’t know what I’d been up to for the past year. He didn’t know that I was potentially already pregnant. I knew he wanted a family, but could hardly dare to hope that somehow he would want one like this, and this fast. I also knew that I couldn’t make it through a whole night with him holding this in, and that, as wild and early as it seemed, it was time to put my cards on the table.

I asked him to meet me outside the restaurant when he arrived, because I knew that I would be calmed, at least temporarily, by a moment alone with him before we sat across the table sharing a meal. I was right, and our first gentle kiss was a feeling of coming home and setting off on the adventure of a lifetime all at once.