For Better or Worse, I Married You: A Note to My Partner

home insemination Kit

Life can get chaotic, can’t it? Picture this: the baby is wailing, I’m in the kitchen trying to whip up dinner, and our dog is barking at who-knows-what—perhaps a shadow or a butterfly flapping its wings halfway across the world. The trash can is overflowing, despite my repeated pleas for you to take it out. I accidentally drop an eggshell, and suddenly, it’s a race to see who can get to it first. I claim victory, with egg whites dripping down my arm, while the dog resumes his barking and our daughter escalates her cries to a new pitch.

In that moment, I’m furious. I can’t help but wonder whose fault it is that I’m stuck in this domestic frenzy. You simply shrug from the couch, your superpower being your uncanny ability to tune out anything that isn’t a sports commentary. I ask again, this time louder, because when I’m angry, my talent for being a bit of a jerk comes out. I let my frustration shine through, knowing full well how to push your buttons. You choose to ignore me, which only intensifies my irritation because there’s nothing worse than feeling unheard.

Pots and pans clash as I cook. I slam cabinet doors and let out sighs and groans that would make any cooking show host raise an eyebrow. You finally get up and take out the trash. Before you shut the door, you declare that it’s my fault for marrying you.

I was so angry that I cried. I scrubbed the dishes with tears streaming down my face, carrying that anger with me throughout the night. I thought of all the times you’ve annoyed me, replaying arguments in my mind and cursing you silently. But as the water in the sink cooled, so did my anger. I realized that staying mad doesn’t win you any friends, and expressing every thought in a fit of rage isn’t a gift at all.

In the shower, I reflected on you and how stressed you must be feeling. I thought about how I often stretch myself too thin, taking on burdens that no one expects of me. I remembered how just last week when you invited me to sit on the couch with you, I insisted there wasn’t enough time—when in fact, time is all we have right now.

I considered how marriage is often portrayed in movies, on social media, and in those perfectly-lit moments. And then I remembered how we looked tonight—not just egg on my arm but a bit of it on my face, too.

Because you were right. For better or for worse, I married you. In sickness and in health, through stress and joy, I married all of you. I embraced the part that snores and takes forever to decide on dinner. The part that forgets to take out the trash and pushes me to try new foods. The part that walked me to class in high school and assured me we’d marry one day. The part that knows just how to calm me when my mind races. The part that sings and dances to make me smile. The part that lets me explore the world while still making me feel at home. I chose you.

Today feels lighter. Mornings usually do. I watch our daughter run to you, clearly your mini-me. You effortlessly scoop her up, and when you wrap your arm around me, I feel secure. We gaze into the distance at a moving truck—another change ahead. I know it will be tough and maybe a little frightening, but deep down, I wouldn’t want to be by anyone else’s side. I lean against you, and gratitude washes over me for choosing to marry you.