As I write this, my husband and I have been married a month – and even in just a month, it’s amazing what’s already changed. I don’t mean the obvious things, like being able to have sex again (we went dry for six months before our wedding, to try and put some oomph back into the wedding night), or being referred to as ‘Mrs’ or having to explain to anyone who’s anyone (and some people that really aren’t anyone at all) why I’m not so sure about adopting my husband’s surname.
I’m talking about those subtle nuances in a relationship that at first don’t seem so big, but in reality make quite a difference.
Let’s take the fact that I already feel a whole lot less territorial. Not that I was ever one of those crazy-ass, ‘Don’t even look at my man’ girls who made a habit out of snooping on his messages. But hey, if you spent far too long talking to him in a bar, your perky breasts a little too close to his face, I’d certainly make sure I introduced myself. And I probably drop a snooty comment in about how little clothes you were wearing. And the fact that you should invest in a better bra. But that’s normal, right?
Anyway, the point is this: it takes a lot more than perky breasts to threaten me now. What’s changed? I’m not too sure; maybe it took a public declaration of our love and some vows and a million and one photographs together to finally ease my insecurities (which are all mine, by the way). Or maybe the satisfaction of being able to shove a carat of rock in a girl’s face is enough to make me feel better about myself.
There’s also the fact that Etienne rather proudly introduces me as his ‘wife’ (still not used to it, by the way), which makes me feel instantly taller and slimmer and prettier. Whatever the reason, it’s still true: I feel like I’ve finally graduated from high-school meanery and competition into my contented-relationship skin. Those pesky voices telling me to go back to the gym to be able to measure up are a whole lot duller, and I like it.
Don’t get me wrong – it in no way means that I’m not going back to gym. Trust me, I have no intention of succumbing to first-year marriage flab (it happens to so many newlyweds, trust me). And no, I haven’t turned into some clueless housewife who ignores any red flags being hoisted up by a flirtatious blonde with perky breasts. It just doesn’t freak me out in quite the same way. I deal with it a whole lot more rationally than I used to, much to the relief of my husband.
And then there are the other things, like being invited by my mother-in-law to call her ‘mom’. Weird? Yes. Am I there yet? I’m not sure. But the sentiment is amazing – I’m welcome into a whole new family. Yes, I was welcome before, but the ‘I dos’ have definitely sealed the deal. In-laws now definitely consider it worth investing their time and energy into you…after all, I’m probably going to be around for a good few Christmases to come, and who wants crappy socks or predictable chocolates from the newly inducted wife? (Everyone knows she’s the one who will be choosing the presents from now on, not the husband.)
And in bad things? Some of my single friends seem more loathe to discuss their dating woes. It’s as if I’ve moved out of their world and into a foreign one populated by picket fences and nappies and recipe books and, well, zero relationship issues of any kind. Which is kind of sucky given that my world isn’t populated by any of those things and my friends’ relationship complaints are pretty close to the irks I have – because yes, married life is far from perfect. (Though I am right pretty much all of the time, naturally.)
In the meantime, though, I’m enjoying being taken a little more seriously by the in-laws (I’ve already got a burn book for the not-so-welcoming ones relegated to receiving socks for Christmas this year), and I still feel pretty proud being introduced as Etienne’s ‘wife’. As for all the single girls with perky breasts? I’m not scared. That said, back off ladies, or I’ll bat you with my sparkly new wedding bling.
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