The Doctor's Wife

Before I said "I do," many caring friends and family--and some strangers--felt compelled to dole out marital advice--unsolicited, I might add. It's human. Against my own principles, I do the same thing. (And don't even get me started on the advice you receive once you have a baby. That's for another post, another time.)

Back to the wedding advice. You know, it was the usual: communicate, don't argue over arranging cabinets, remember to love and respect, express expectations, don't go to bed angry. Yet, no one warned me about the hardest part of life for me after marriage.

You see, for years, I was identified as the scrappy, smart girl from humble beginnings, who secured two jobs in publishing her freshman year plus a job at Dillards to pay my own way--yes, my own way--through college. Fast-forward seven years to find me as the acquisitions editor and director of the book division at Randall House. Scrappy. Smart. Practical. Moxy. Responsible. Slightly inappropriate humor on occasion. That's me.

So when my nuptials moved me to a new town in a new state in a new church in a new neighborhood with a new job and every person I met was new, I experienced an unexpected and certainly unprepared for identity crisis. My moniker, despite my best efforts, was no longer scrappy, smart, self-made girl. I was now the doctor's wife.

At first, it was difficult. Wait. What am I saying? This adjustment took me YEARS to accept. We're knocking on five years of marriage, and I'd say I'm just now able to wrap my mind around it and own it. While I still am not "okay" with the following scenarios, I've learned to accept them as part of life, and even barely notice when they happen:

• Always being introduced to new people like this: "This is Emily. Her husband is a doctor." You didn't know Bryan's occupation is my most qualifying trait?
• Upon learning of my husband's profession, someone saying: "Well, you must be loaded" or my personal favorite, "You hit the jackpot."
• And the most difficult to accept . . . when a new lady meets me and learns the MD presence in our home, I often encounter one of two responses--the cold shoulder or the buddy buddy. The cold shoulder is the person who has insecurities and/or prejudice about people who just might be rich, or at least have more money than she. The buddy buddy is the gal who thinks being my friend will get her into the country club. 

See what I'm talking about? I was so totally unprepared for people's presuppositions of me. Thus, I'm taking it upon myself to stop the bellyaching and take up the cause for the sake of doctors' wives worldwide.

(I can see the public service announcement now: Lady with ponytail in lounge pants and a t-shirt with a baby on her hip. Scrolling at the bottom . . . "Doctors' wives. We're people too.")

Cue the bulleted list of  . . . wait, I have to go to bed. It's 11 p.m., and I've got one load of laundry to hang on the drying rack before I snooze. We've got music class for the wee one in the morning, and no, I don't have a maid to do my laundry or a 24-hour nanny. My crusade will have to wait until tomorrow . . . or the next day.