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Getting used to being a husband.

My partner and I got married in November.

We wanted to tie the knot in November as our actual anniversary, the first time we got together, was during that month. We’ve been together for twenty-eight years.

All through last year I understood the term ‘wedding jitters’. I had irrational dreams where no one would show up, just because our national postal service didn’t deliver all the invitations.

I freaked out when I found out we only paid for one lead singer of the band we hired, instead of two. It was the female vocalist that sold us on the YouTube videos. In the end the band were brilliant with just the male singer.

Then the big day arrived.

We had a cocktail party rather than a sit down wedding. Our ceremony started ninety minutes into the event so that the sun would be setting as we said “I do”. A bubbly friend was our celebrant. Other friends read letters of love we wrote to each other.

Then it got political.

An eleven year old read a beautiful piece she wrote for the occasion. She referenced the battle Oscar Wilde had with society not accepting his type of love. With a cheer from the guests, she championed us for winning the fight for marriage equality.

Later, two family members welcomed Warren and I to each others’ families. They both found this task hard. As one said, “How do you welcome someone into your family when you already consider them family?”

A long term relationship is a wonderful thing.

Warren and I have argued, loved, fought, then loved some more over our three decades together. He became emotional during the ceremony. I didn’t. Ten minutes before the official part, I relaxed, leaving the jitters behind.

Now a ring clanks on the gear-stick when I drive, reminding me I’m married. And I need this reminder. I’ve been with him for more than half my life. The fact that I’m married is finally sinking in.

I’m a husband. Not just a partner. And although we’ve referred to each other as husbands before, now we actually are. Something’s happened that’s more than a signature on a legal document. There’s a connection we have that’s different to the one we had before.

Written by Kevin

I live with my husband, Warren, in a humble apartment (affectionately named Sabrina), where all sorts of magic happens. I also write books. Crazy, I know, but someone's got to write them. CLICK HERE to find me on your favourite social platform.

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