When you become married, life suddenly goes from being singular to being pluralized. It’s no longer me or I. It’s we and us. We will be available next weekend. This gift is from us. What was mine is now ours and the same goes for him. What was his is ours. That couch I bought years before? It’s ours. His colorful fiesta mugs? Those are ours too.
While these little things are small and insignificant, it does take some brain work to adjust our vocabulary. To remember to use inclusive language when, for so long, you spoke only of yourself. And maybe, though the ring is on your finger and the memories of the wedding day are still lingering, you still don’t quite believe that you made the plunge. That somewhere in your mind you still don’t believe you’ll ever get married even if you have the documents to prove that you have, in fact, been hitched recently.
I’m finding for myself that the hardest part is actually referring to Jake as “our” son. The Mr. has been raising him for sometime with me and we all feel that he’s as much a father as anyone else. He loves deeply and thoroughly and he worries just as any father would.
It’s not that I don’t want to share, it’s just an adjustment of vernacular. Instead of “my” son, it’s “our” son. Our son finished first grade today. Our son left his towel on the floor again. Our son has grown another inch and needs new pants that fit him.
Our son. Our home. Our life. Our dreams.