Marriage is such a wonderfully complicated virtue that usually makes me explode with love while engaging in projectile vomiting at the same time. The term ‘I love him so much I could kill him?’ Yea, I totally get that.
It’s no secret that I’m on my second marriage. My first marriage was a train wreck headed for a hydrogen bomb, with details I obviously don’t wish to relive. What’s done is done, body count collected and sanity was fortunately resuscitated. Wounds were licked over time and eventually all was right with the world.
One word to describe that whole process? BLAH!
So a couple of years later (in spite of myself), I found myself falling for a man with the brain of a genius and most beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. After 2 months of foreplay on the Internet, we finally met in person. And once finally laying eyes on him, game over.
I. Became. Mush.
For a woman so experienced and strong, I don’t do ‘mush.’ Yet there I was.
Fast-forward a year. I’ve decided it would be a great idea to move in with Mr. Mush. Blending my crap with his was not smooth, considering we are two individuals with a strong sense of personal space and even stronger sense of stubbornness. I came, I saw, and after a few fights, he eventually allowed me to conquer. The blending of socks, shoes, panties, pots and pans did not come without tears and major drama. No weird drama about him wanting to actually wear my panties, but I think you get the picture.
The next year is followed with compromise, cat-fights, wonderful cooking and complete catastrophe, which really shouldn’t shock anyone considering what happens when you put a head-strong Irish woman and a stubborn Italian man together in the same box. The result is always going to be amazingly beautiful chaos.
Fast –forward another year, when I’m presented with a question and the most amazing 1-carat piece of eye candy I’ve ever seen. How could I say no?! Yes I’ll marry you, you fucking bastard. I love you!!!!
Three months later, in the midst of planning a wedding, I got knocked up. Apparently my ovulation counting skills are not as accurate as I thought. Of course we were initially shocked but overjoyed with the fact that this was even happening. Just a year earlier, I was helping Mr. Mush recover from testicular cancer surgery. Even back then, the doctor reassured us that we could successfully procreate, despite our age and hesitations.
Someone needs to give that doctor a high-five, as well as a raise.
4 months after the wedding, I gave birth to the most amazing person I’ve met so far, bar none. And guess what? Even though Dude drives me crazy most days, it’s those beautiful brown eyes that melt my heart every time, and I can’t resist. Sound familiar?
Fast-forward 8 years later. Mr. Mush and I are still together, basking in the suburban glow and clawing each other’s eyes out. Sometimes screaming for each other’s individuality and self-perseverance, yet always re-connecting in the world of love, compromise and family.
Is this normal? Hell if I know. Is this healthy? Possibly. Is this a test in patience? Oh hell yea! Is this the raw definition of love? Yea, I think so.