Having just successfully completed my first month of marriage (sturdily backed by five years of dating, four of living together), I thought it fitting to take a moment to assess the experience thus far.
First off, I have to mention the fact that it doesn’t really feel any different than it did when we were merely “livin’ in sin.” Perhaps it just hasn’t sunk in yet, but I am also confident that we are quite a good match, and living together for a few years helped us work out our kinks. We already understand the eb and flow of our moods. I know when to leave the room before I say something I know I’ll regret saying later. He knows that simply asking what’s wrong isn’t going to get me to talk: I do suffer from that most annoying of female habits – I won’t immediately tell him what he did wrong; he’s going to suffer a bit and figure it out (at least partially) on his own.
But we never have, and never have had, enormous, screaming, hate-filled fights. We express our frustrations in slightly raised voices on occasion but are otherwise highly empathetic and gentle with one another.
I suppose that the marriage certificate has brought to light the fact that his annoying habits are now an absolute and permanent fixture in my life. But mine are in his as well. And I’ve always been of the mindset that if something were to happen, I sure would miss the high-pitched whistling, the stinky socks, the relentless singing of the same refrain, and his affinity for rap and country (the only two musical genres which propel me to search for a butter knife with which to saw my ears off). I know I’m riddled with flaws myself.
I won’t say this first month has been without its struggles, but it has been wonderful. I love my husband. I’m sure we have a lot to learn, and I look foward to it.
And an unexpected bonus? The you-know-what is inexplicably better and more frequent. Interesting.
Of course, with the subject of a newly minted marriage arises the inevitable question of children. Which brings me to my next point. I just finished reading this Newsweek article:
http://www.newsweek.com/id/143792?GT1=43002
Indeed, could it be that the childless are happier? Often when I’m out running errands, I’ll wonder to myself how much more difficult the task at hand would be if the added duties of baby-bag-packing, car-seat-installing, and stroller-toting had to be done in tandem. I am constantly seeing over-burdened mothers with screaming, demanding, and usually mucus-dripping children, and I can’t help but wonder if they weren’t happier before the ankle biters.
In all honesty, I have to say that I have yet to see a couple who makes me think that having children is a good idea. And until I do, I won’t be convinced. Sleepless nights. Diminished sex life. Arguments over diaper-changing. Clothes that reek of vomit and baby powder. Not to mention the fact that my body will never – EVER – look the same. Who in their right mind would sign up for all of that?
I am 25 and fairly certain that my current opinion will one day be swayed. But not yet. Not by a long shot. I think that before you have children, you should have a damn good answer to this very important question: WHY? I can come up with a few responses right now: it would be a crime not to pass on my fabulous good looks and intellectual talents; someone will need to inherit the fortune we will no doubt amass; the accompanying tax breaks; etc. But that’s all I’ve got so far, and it’s a pretty weak argument.
My contentions against having children are far more convincing. I enjoy sleeping in on Saturday. I’m a fairly selfish person with the remote; I don’t think I could tolerate the sacharin cesspool of soothing voices and rainbow colors that is children’s television. And while I wouldn’t call my current position a “career,” I would like to have one at some point, and it seems so very hard to have it all these days.
A child, like communism and the Segway, is a nice idea in theory. It might work out someday, but my nagging suspicion is that we’re just not ready for it.
