When I asked him to marry me, my intended's reaction was curiously muted. He gazed at me for a moment, pondered the question, and replied, 'yes, I suppose it'd be sensible.'
What I didn't know at the time was that (according to recent research gleefully reported by the Daily Mail) while today's liberated woman thinks nothing of popping the question, in those days of yore - or rather the eighties, 'a woman proposing to a man was unthinkable.'
And so, in blissful ignorance of the then current etiquette, I made my intentions known, had them accepted (albeit in a rather low key fashion) and three weeks later, in a small but celebratory affair, we were married, with our six year old son in attendance as an adorable pageboy.
There are lots of reasons for tying the knot. In my case, I felt that there had been a certain amount of pratting around with this man who was the father of my child, and that it was time to put things on a more solid footing. We were very fond of each other, he made me laugh, we had a shared responsibility to our son, who was the main focus of both our lives - and we still fancied each other.
All these things seemed to make marriage a reasonable proposition. And on questioning the other party involved, it appeared that he felt roughly the same way. Plus I was in my late twenties and he in his mid thirties - and frankly, it seemed entirely possible that neither of us would get a better offer.
The morning after our marriage we looked at each other, and in an instant of post conjugal clarity, both knew exactly what the other was thinking. 'What have I done?' was reflected as clearly in the other's face as if it had been written upon a fruit cake in white icing.
Marriage, as they say, is hard work. And in those early months it felt like hard labour. Our initial conviction that the whole thing was a good idea, for practical and other reasons, was swiftly displaced by a whole raft of squabbles, dissatisfaction and general unhappiness.
Clearly we were completely incompatible and our union was destined for divorce. And although unspoken, the blame for our miserable mismatch rested squarely on my shoulders.
Grimly I began to plan the split, in the same rather matter of fact way that I had relatively recently organised our nuptials.
Brokering a separation and all that it entails is no easy matter, and takes time. Much discussion was needed, and as we talked, we found bizarrely, that we were actually capable of rational argument. Gradually we became friends again, and began to rediscover what had first attracted each to the other. Then I found I was pregnant. The planned separation was shifted firmly to the back burner, and during the pregnancy we became closer - a family.
By the time our second child was born, all thoughts of parting had evaporated in a bustle of joyful practicalities and a new willingness to make this marriage work. Counselling helped us resolve our residual differences and by the time our third child arrived, nearly two years later, we were, as my mother in law put it, 'rock solid.'
The words solid, and hard work make the entire marriage exercise sound like an endless and rather dreary business project. Happily this was not and never has been the case. Twenty five years on, he and I adore each other, and love our life together. Having a baby, getting married and finally falling love may be a less than conventional way to approach a life long partnership.
But it worked for us. I'm glad I proposed.
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