Why I Don’t Believe in Having One ‘True Love’

one true love

one true love

I couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I love you!” I exclaimed much too loudly to my boyfriend, who was sitting next to me on a blanket.

My boost of sudden confidence could have come from the bottle of wine we shared that night on the beach, or the romantic nature of our evening — under the stars, listening to the waves crash — but it didn’t matter. I had loved this man for some time now, and decided that I couldn’t live another second with the weight of this news lingering in my soul.

Startled, he turned, facing me, and sat there smiling for what felt like eternity. I clenched my toes in the sand, bracing myself for his reply. There it was, my heart on the line — vulnerable and exposed — uncertain if he loved me back.

“I love you more,” he finally said. Butterflies danced through my veins and I knew life would never be the same.

We married a few years later, and I was certain I had found my one true love in life. I was wrong.


Breathing through an oxygen mask, I looked up wearily at my husband, who was grasping my hand tightly. “I can’t do this!” I cried.

There we were, on the 19th hour of labor. I was ready to give up — I had fought this battle with all of my might, and I was losing terribly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a team of nurses setting up equipment to perform an emergency C-section, because this long, natural labor just wasn’t working.

My husband bent down, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “You’re so strong. You’re so close. You can do this.”

Exactly the words I needed to regain my confidence. Three pushes later and my daughter was suddenly lying on my chest.

Weak, relieved, and full of pure joy, I looked into her little, blue eyes. “I love you!” I exclaimed. The last 19 hours of pain were forgotten, and I knew life would never be the same. There she was, in all her perfection — the second love of my life.


“And see this here?” The ultrasound technician pointed to a little fleck on the screen. My husband, my daughter and I all squinted our eyes and leaned our heads forward to try and make sense of the black and white shapes. “This here is a penis! It’s a boy! Congratulations!”

A boy! Excitement and fear washed over me all at once. I was the oldest of three sisters. Growing up, even our cat and dog were female. I didn’t know the first thing about little boys, let alone raising one.

Flash forward six months later, and after a miraculously easy four-hour labor, the doctor held him up — our little prince — and he began peeing everywhere.

My husband and I turned to each other and laughed. “I love him!” I exclaimed. All of my fear and uncertainty washed away, and I knew life would never be the same. There he was — our adorable, sweet, peeing little boy, in all his glory — the third and final love of my life.

This post originally appeared on The Huffington Post

About The Author Kristin Helms

Kristin Helms is the author of, From Boardroom to Baby: A Roadmap for Career Women Transitioning to Stay-at-Home Moms, and the founder of Tribe Magazine and Mom Tribe. Her mommy musings have appeared on Literary Mama, The Huffington Post, and PopSugar among others. She resides in San Diego, California with her husband and two spirited toddlers.