After six years married and eight together, I know some things about my husband.
I know that he does not like to be rushed. I know that he likes olives. I know that he means really well but honestly asking him to start the Roomba every time he leaves the house is a losing battle. I know that his Angry At The Dog voice isn’t as angry on his insides as it is on his outsides. I know that he is super proud that his kids look like him.
There are lots of things I don’t know, of course. I, for one, don’t know why it takes him so very long to go to the bathroom, like why not wait until you really have to go because you could do like four dishes in that time sitting on Twitter? But also alone time on the internets is precious and enjoyable and I get it.
I also don’t know who Jay thought he would be in six years when we got married six years ago. I only know this version, and I think that sometimes as we grow and age and add more chores and kids to our lives there is a sense of loss of who we were separately, even if we never knew a grown up version of that person. Where we are now is figuring out who we are together while trying to cling to a little bit of independence because we were just fine as adults before all this, thank you very much.
We cherish time alone without each other and without our kids, and desperately want to be together all the time so we don’t miss anything. Jay took Beck to putt putt the other day while Will napped to “give me a break,” and the entire time he was gone he sent pictures, stories, and videos, so the entire time he was gone I look at pictures, read funny stories, and watched videos of the very activity designed to give me a break from parenting to do literally anything else.
This year, this year six, feels like a middle ground. We still remember what it was like to live separately and date and not be sure of the forever-ness of all this, but only barely, only very faintly. We are trying more intentionally to be aware of our differences and celebrate them rather than try to squash them. One difference is that I am the designated Cockroach Squasher, and Jay handles any and all snake-related matters, but I digress, got distracted by the word “squash.”
I hear people say sometimes “oh, they got too comfortable,” as if somehow that is the beginning of the demise of a marriage. I’m not sure, though. I know the implication there is that somehow desire is lost, somehow excitement or ambition or passion fall by the wayside, and maybe so. Maybe, part of growing up together is being ok with that, leaving behind some sensory-seeking tendencies and being completely fine with routines and feeling comfortable. I am, at least. Maybe Too Comfortable is a quick way to say Forgot To Talk To Each Other Ever For 25 Years, but I don’t see comfort as a negative thing.
Continuing to learn new things about each other. Getting on board with things we don’t like. Finding comfort in all of it. That’s six years.