I am one inch taller than my husband. In high school and college I often said, "I would never marry someone shorter than me." Then I fell in love with Chad. We would have started dating a year earlier if the height thing hadn't existed. We didn't verbalize this fact at the time, but after we hooked up, it came out. We were both attracted to each other for the longest time, but were scared the height thing might make stuff uncomfortable.

The first time we held hands was awkward. I thought to myself, "We don't fit. His hand is too low." I swallowed these thoughts down and focused on his green eyes. It worked. After two years of marriage there are things I love about our heights. We don't get neck aches when we kiss. When we wrestle I have a chance. But sometimes it hits me again and I'm disappointed. When I see the 'ideal' couple in public... a guy with his arm slung across a girl's shoulders. Or when I stand next to a tall man and I feel petite in his shadow. I like that feeling. I get tired of feeling large, big, lumbering, German, etc. The fact that I've always been on the clumsy side doesn't help matters. There are the tall graceful types and then there are the tall cumbersome types. I'm the latter. My feet find things to trip over. My hands contantly attempt to 'save' objects tumbling to the ground. I find random bruises frequently.

My worst fear is that our unborn children will grow up to be shorter than me...
and that I'll end up being the tallest one in the entire family.

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