I thought that Mr. H-B and I had spent a significant amount of time talking about our expectations for married life and discussing such important topics as division of household duties, finances, and children. (I still think we did.) However, I never really imagined that so much, well, poo would hit the fan pretty much the second after we said 'Yes' at the altar.
It all started when Mr. H-B contracted some sort of flu-ish bug which left him sweating miserably through the open house. We cancelled the last day of our honeymoon because a) the room smelled like mold and b) Mr. H-B was totally miserable. Then, of course, because I have the immunity of a 90-year-old, I contracted what Mr. H-B had. Just as I was getting better, he came down with yet another illness, which I promptly contracted. Then there were several more colds, a puking extravaganza and bronchitis. Three months and seven days into married life and we have only enjoyed about two weeks of mostly full health.
I've never really been good at balancing school, home, and social life and, as it turns out, it is slightly more difficult when one has taken on not only a husband but also three teaching positions (2 Spanish classes, 1 institute class, 1 primary class), three of ones own classes, a treasurer job, and membership on the graduate student council. Then my grandma got sick and passed away, which was shockingly traumatic.
Then there are the other little things: Mr. H-B snores. I am much more messy than I ever thought. The dog is whiney and needy. The laundry appears to have quadrupled. There is cooking and cleaning and TV watching that all need to get done. And, as it turns out, there are still only 24 hours in a day.
Mr. H-B and I are working hard at dividing things equitably. He is a dish-washer extraordinaire and a pro at vacuuming. He and Greta have developed a relationship that makes me slightly jealous, so he takes care of most of her, ahem, potty needs. I do the laundry and cook 3-4 days a week. On the other 3-4 days, Mr. H-B and I kind of fend for ourselves.
I'm learning to let go of perfection too. The bathroom isn't as clean as I want it to be and sometimes the counters in the kitchen are sticky. I haven't mopped the floors since the first weekend in October--don't faint, mom! And I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be caught up on my homework or grading.
Despite all of the stress and trauma, I wouldn't want things to be different. That is, I wouldn't want to change the fact that we got married in August. I know this semester wouldn't have been much (if any) easier without Mr. H-B in my life. Sure, I could have done without all the extra illness and laundry, but then there wouldn't be someone to come home to every night. Because, let's face it, Greta isn't all that interesting.