Too Much, Too Soon? Not for me.

This morning Michael woke up and I watched him sleepily make his way to the closest. He rummaged through his clothes and found a pair of scrubs and walked into the bathroom. Mere seconds later he walked back out and made his way back to the closest. He had grabbed the wrong scrubs and he searched for the right ones. A couple minutes passed and he remained looking. He called my name and said he thought I told him I washed them.  I got up,  told him to move and found his gray scrubs in less than 15 seconds and handed them to him.

I've never considered myself to be a stereotypical woman. I hate being in a kitchen, I hate doing my hair, the idea of staying at home and raising kids and doing housework is a foreign place I wish not to travel.  I don't care about styles, I despise shopping and painting my nails is not my definition of a good time.  Yet even this morning's simple act of finding my fiance's scrubs made me feel like the type of woman a man may need.  The one he needs.

Despite my pregnancy and recent struggles that I'm not ready to talk about,  I am a very devout Catholic. My heart screams out my faith and is consumed by my love for Christ and His Bride the Church.  So being pregnant out of wedlock and cohabiting with my future husband tends to make me nauseated if I think too much on it. I however do not regret my child and I know that living with Michael is my only valid option due to finances.  And so here I find myself,  ready to give birth and living with the one person who truly has me completely.  It is nowhere near the life I envisioned.

Michael moving in hasn't overwhelmed me. If anything, it has calmed me down.  It has made me feel secure. Doing his laundry, picking up after him and my occasional cooking doesn't bother me. I'm in no way trying to play house, but I have easily transitioned into a role I'm comfortable with.  Although too early,  this wasn't a step that I wasn't ready to take.  Change is scary but I often think I handle it better than most.

Lately I feel alone in my transition. I feel more prepared for the life I'm living.  I don't feel trapped or like I've just settled. I am not unhappy.  But I'm afraid I'm alone in this.  I said earlier that I'm the type of woman Michael needs.  But life has told me that often people's needs don't match their wants.

One day at a time,  I suppose.