The first one came as a shock. I was fifteen! As one drunken wedding guest put it, my older bride "took serious what poked at her in fun." Crude, but more or less accurate. I assumed that the marriage was a temporary formality for the sake of her honor, but we wound up having a second before finally splitting apart. What the thought was in that cse, I've forgotten.
I moved in with another girl and got her pregged, probably partly to fill the void of separation after moving away from the other two. My motives in those days, understand, were more impulsive than clear-minded and focused. She, like the first wife, turned out to be a hasty and ill-fitting choice and I had to break camp again.
Having learned very little, I shacked up with a third, newly-discovered chick, who assured me that she was on birth control. Nope. What's worse, she miscarried, but convinced me that we should marry anyway to keep her poor parents from being devastated. Still just 21, I more or less gave up on my Cinderella dreams of a perfect domestic life and let the tide take me where it would. This brilliant experiment in lethargy netted me twenty years of shrew exposure and two more children. That process didn't involve much thinking at all. But I got to parent those kids through to full size, and their thanks makes all the Chinese water torture of a long, tough marriage an unimportant back burner memory.