We met on Hinge. I’m a born-and-raised Louisvillian and a solo parent at the time, and Andrew’s a British guy who somehow ended up on a farm in Kentucky — don’t ask, we’re still not sure how that happened. It was my first date and the only one since Bodi was born. He drove two hours each way just to take me out, then had to stop and charge his Tesla on the way home because romance apparently needs electricity. Our first date was basically a Hallmark movie: dinner, Christmas lights and Santa...minus the cheesy script. For our second date, we thought, “Why not just rip the Band-Aid off?” So he came to Christmas Eve with the whole family. No pressure. A month later, we went to Delray Beach with my family for my 39th birthday. We came back with a tan, fun memories, and oops a baby on the way. Naturally, we moved in together as soon as we got back, but not before Andrew sold the Tesla. Priorities. That summer, he put a ring on it. That fall, we met our newest tiny roommate, Jack Roger (Roger being my late English grandfather's name and funny enough Andrew's, his father's, and his grandfather's middle name). One swipe, one guy with a really awesome accent, and here we are...proof that sometimes a dating app, a long drive, and a charging station are all you really need.