To wed or not to wed: I guess I really care.

For the last week or so, people have been talking to me about marriage. Either they’re getting married, or getting divorced, or want a separation, or have cold feet about commitment, or they’re in some weird gray area with their significant other. Whatever it is, it prompts them to think about marriage, and what they think of it, and how much faith they have in that particular institution, and the politics of who can marry and who can’t and why that’s the case. Marriage seems to be on the tips of all of my friends’ tongues, and it got me thinking about my own stance on marriage.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been against it. Then, a few months ago, it looked like Rob and I would be forced to get married in order to ensure Micah’s American citizenship. When the dust settled, though, we were wrong: Micah will be American whether or not Rob and I are married – it’s one of the perks to me having been born and raised as an American citizen. This knowledge put us back at square one, but the “damage” had already been done.

For months, I had been detailing our wedding, wondering how different married life would be from what we already have, and generally daydreaming as if I was a 6-year old girl in her pink, taffeta room, surrounded by a bunch of My Little Ponies and Care Bears. All this, even though I’d been adamantly anti-marriage.

I have to admit: All that marriage talk had gotten me a little excited, and I was bummed that we didn’t have to get married, because not having to do it meant not doing it. We just don’t have the money.

That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks: In between getting knocked up for the second time, being half a world away from Rob, and experiencing the awesomeness of seeing all of my dreams slowly becoming realities, something in me had changed. I wanted to get married.

Yeah, that’s right: every fiber of my being wants that stupid piece of paper that says that Rob and I belong together.

I know it doesn’t make sense. I know that it’s only a piece of paper and pieces of paper don’t mean a damn thing. I know that Love doesn’t need that piece of paper.

But I want it. The paper. The problems. The drama. The bad stuff, the good stuff. I want all of it, and I want it all to be officially mine.

NOTE: The preceding is most likely a reaction to those who don’t believe Rob and I have a “real” relationship because we’re not married. I don’t like that I’m bending to their opinions, but I can’t help it. I want the legitimacy, dammit…

(I think. Tomorrow, I might change my mind.)

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