Remembering birthdays was easy before I got married. I only had one sister, two parents, and a few good friends to remember. But then I messed up a good thing and walked down the aisle. For little did I know that written in between the vows of promising to love, honor and pick up my husband’s dirty underwear til death do us part, was the promise that I’d now be the one to have to remember all of the birthdays on HIS side of the family.
And what a family it is. He’s one of six kids who all grew up and took the philosophy “go forth and multiply” to extreme. I now have 14 nieces and nephews, and a dozen in-laws to recognize and I’m beginning to think that the impetus behind my husband’s marriage proposal was that he wanted to be rid of this heinous chore.
I’m not quite sure how it happened. How I became the one who had to take on this task. It seems that when we got married, we silently divided up the list of chores. I’d go to the market. He’d fix thing around the house. And I became the one in charge of birthdays. It’s made me a wreck. Nervous that I’ll forget someone and prove to my mother-in-law that I am indeed unworthy of her precious son.
Sure, I have considered divorce. But I truly love my husband, and besides, he does fix things around the house. I guess I’ll have to chalk it up to one of the downsides of marriage like having to share the remote control and agree on home decor. All I know is that if I do ever remarry, husband number two has got to be an only child!