I'm finding that what it means to be married - what it means for us to be married - is becoming clear little by little, in dribs and drabs, in small epiphanies, not all at once.
This slow trickle of realization wears away at the pre-programmed Stepford (or Desperate House-) wife tapes in my head that insisted I would immediately don an apron,* quit my job, and never leave the kitchen.
At the gym last night, we realized that we could get a 'family' membership, resulting in substantial savings if the year was pre-paid in full. A family membership. For us. Because we are a family.
The funny thing is, I've shared 'family' memberships of other types with housemates and friends. It always felt like a clever way to save money and pull one over on The Man. It never felt like a significant political statement.
*For the record: I rarely wear an apron when I cook. But I'm usually barefoot.