I've been ruminating on the nature of marriage and relationships in general lately. I realised that as of August, Himself and I will have been married for seven years. That means I've been in the same relationship for eight and a half years. Anybody who knew me in the pre-Himself days might be pinching themselves about now.
I never put much stock in long term relationships. I had many a short term gig, and I didn't see myself as the marrying type. If you'd told the twenty-something me that in ten years I'd be living in suburbia with my husband and our two children, smart money would be on a sarcastic response with a side of eye rolling. If you'd told my grandfather that I'd be a housewife with a catering business, there would definitely have been snorting, possibly even sniggering, with his helping of eye rolling. *lol*
As unexpected an outcome as my current lifestyle is, I'm loving it. Yes, I get frustrated and tired dealing with a temperamental two year old diva and He Who Sleeps Not. Yes, I get the occasional swamping wave of guilt over not financially contributing more to the household. That said, I feel incredibly grateful that thanks to Himself's superior planning and work ethic I'm able to stay home with our children. I'm so lucky that I'm able to play at cooking and crafting and get paid for it. I'm insanely fortunate to have a husband that can still give me butterflies after all this time.
Life is good.