Today we will have been married for three (3) months.
It feels like maybe we are just a dating couple that is cohabitating, in that we are still very polite and gentle with each other. (Still, in a warm and respectful way, not in a shy way.) I only know we are married because we are so much happier than when we were dating. No longer long-distance and no longer insecure. We are bonded to each other now, and so we live with the comfort of this assurance--this person will not leave me alone.
He went to the grocery store on Sunday morning, and I stayed behind out of consideration for the store's capacity rules. I looked around the apartment grasping for some way to spend this rare time alone. I found that I missed him! After three months of non-stop togetherness, all day every day, I discovered I had no suppressed activities waiting in the wings for his non-presence.
I find butter and crumbs and coffee dribbles and mysterious sticky spots all over the kitchen counter and cabinet handles, and I smile to myself. He is like my dad this way, and also, if my dad is still doing this at 59 years old, I cannot have high expectations that my guy will cease this low-grade messiness during our marriage, so I might as well learn to accept it.
Then I wonder, what if it's actually me??? Do I leave butter and crumbs and coffee dribbles all over the kitchen? No way to know . . .
There is something we grieve about. I have not taken to sex half as easily as I expected I might have, and while I was not naive enough to think there would be no learning curve there, the challenge is not at all what I expected it might be. Our efforts to progress have not really met with any fruition, and in our helplessness and disappointment, we are unsure of how to proceed.
Still, it is touching to me that we grieve together.
It is a blessing to be together.
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