Same Difference

There are two questions that get annoying post-wedding. One is “When are you having a baby?”, and I thank the Jebus Slug every single day that no one  has asked us that just yet. I know they’ll start sooner or later, but I’m quite happy to delay the commencement of that question. The second one is “So, is married life any different?”  To be honest, no. Married life is not much different from living together: IP has not suddenly devolved into a slovenly video game player who always watches sports and never pays attention to me, and I have not suddenly acquired housekeeping skills that rival Martha Stewart. (I am always confused when I see people on my anniversary board say they want to do out-do other newlyweds when it comes to cooking, baking, and being a hostess—for fuck’s sake, why?)  We communicate as well as ever and have no intention of dropping our chatty ways when it comes to what’s bothering us, our future plans, and how we face the world and the everyday together.

Even if I can’t say much has changed except the fact that we’re on the both health insurance and I’ve added IP’s last name to my own, I can say this: I’m pretty damn happy. I was happy before, of course; but there is something a teensy bit exciting about looking over at him and knowing he’s my husband. There’s also still a rush and a thrill that goes through me when someone asks him if I’m his wife and he says yes, or vice versa.  I’ve known for a while now that I was going to spend my life with this amazing man: I’m very happy we’ve chosen each other to be our own little family (Disclaimer: IP and I are the family, this does not mean instant babies, okay? No baby questions, please!).

Okay, time to stop gushing. I’m glad I didn’t post this on Facebook because I so don’t want to be submitted to STFU, Marrieds.