I don’t think of myself as married. Well, I do, in that I know I’m married and he’s my husband way but not in the automatically checks the “Married” box when filling out a survey way. I do the same double-take when I have to check our income or my age group. Weird to be faced with where you are in life in a survey – or is it weirder that I think it’s weird?
“Are you happy being married?” I asked him. He, of course, thought this was a trick question. Maybe it was. No. More that it was an entry point to my next thought.
“Being married gets easier with time.”
We’re there – the oh dear God please let this be easier someday please please pretty please because it must, right? it must or else… please, just let it be easier someday place. It’s good.
But we’re used to being stressed over something, so though we respond, “Stressed!” when asked why we didn’t sleep well last night, we have a harder time pinpointing the reason.
“We’re okay on money, you know.” This to ourselves and each other, to reassure and make it real.
“We’re doing pretty well together, too.” Again, reassurance and a bit of surprise.
“We should be okay with making some progress – any little bit – each day. That’s life.” We nod. Yup. Doing great.
Still looking for reasons to explain our heightened stress levels, though, like the monkeys in the study that do the thing (hi, I suck at stories) long past the point it had any functional benefit.
Strange, this point of marriage. It’s like, if we as a couple were a growing human, we’re not-quite-adolescents with all the angst and growing and hormones (I believe that’s called “pregnancy”?), but we’re past the terrible twos. We’re cool, well-behaved enough to take along on everyday adventures, quirky enough to maybe offer a funny perspective, settled enough not to freak out when we can’t see each other (or our appendages) for a moment.
We’re six or seven years old – not quite at constant fart jokes hilarity, but able to walk without holding someone’s hand.
Or something. (Stream of thought posting, yet again, while sitting in the bath protecting my laptop from a precarious perch on the edge of the tub. Bet the corporate IT staff didn’t think of that when they made me take three classes on protecting our business assets.)