My wife and I couldn’t conceive naturally. Her eggs are… scrambled. Or poached. Or something like that. I’m sketchy on the details.
It’s an age-old joke, and both men and women say it. “I just lost one of my friends…” *pause for dramatic effect* “Oh, she didn’t die. She got married.”
I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to be married to a strong, intelligent woman.
Marriage is work. Hard. Work.
My wife is a Super Mom, because she convinced me to have children. I owe her everything for that. If she hadn’t pushed, I might have never known what it is to be a Dad, and I would be an incomplete person because of that.