great expectations

When marriage first hit the scene, people lived to be about 23. "Till death do us part" might have only meant until next winter. It was a safe bet. These days, we're looking at a 50-year dance. And while I can't imagine doing that dance with anyone other than M, I'm a little scared.

It has nothing to do with my feelings for him. It might even be the opposite. Every time I look at his little face, I have an overwhelming urge to squeeze him to death. Literally to death. I fear for the safety of our future children. Still, I've listened to enough Tina Turner to wonder "what's love got to do with it?" 

I doubt that very many people go into marriage expecting it to fail. Yet, overwhelmingly, it does. We're both children of divorce. We've seen how this could end. It doesn't instill a lot of faith in the institution. This is probably why I keep asking myself some variation of the same questions. Is marriage going to change us? Will I be a good wife? Is it possible to remain loyal to one person forever? Should I tell him that I might have been born a boy? (I mean, I wasn't obviously, but just to see how he takes really horrible news. Definitely a no on the last one? Fine.) 

What I'm feeling can't be that uncommon, but no one seems to talk about it. People get engaged and plan their weddings with an exuberance that I reserve for tater tots coming out of the oven. My priorities have always been a bit askew. So instead of throwing myself into venue scouting, I gaze at my ring and hope that we have what it takes to make it through a lifetime together. 

Nonetheless, I did buy a magical 3.1 Phillip Lim dress last week. And it's white, rendering me a total hypocrite. We'll get there.