I never really talk about my husband. I?ve always tried to uphold the illusion of being young, carefree and single. Just a strong, independent woman who does it all on her own. Then I got pregnant. Which, spoiler alert, I did not do on my own.
As my bump grew, I figured I should start weaving my husband into my narrative, or at the very least, my Instagram stories, to assure the public that I was not, in fact knocked up accidentally by a one-night stand.
I started to casually mention him in my columns, on television, and when our twins were born, I?d post the odd pic of him doing typical ?dad? things?drinking beer, holding babies, drinking beer while holding babies? What I didn?t show, until now, was him leaving his high-powered job to raise our newborn babies so that I could go back to work. Photo: Courtesy of Jessi Cruickshank
So, after 12 years of kind-of sort-of pretending he doesn?t exist, I am dedicating my first column on motherhood to something just as important, fatherhood. More specifically, to THE FATHER OF MY TWINS, EVAN. There, that wasn?t so bad.
Evan and I met in 2006. It was the same week that Britney and K-Fed broke up, but somehow, we still believed in love. He was a TV editor working in New York City. I was visiting New York City, looking for a TV editor to cut my MTV demo tape. He agreed, I got the job, and now we have twins.
Evan is funnier and more charismatic than me in every way. He is also taller and has slightly more facial hair than I do, but ...