A friend recommended a documentary to me. I am having difficulty remembering the name but it was about the evolution of sexual reproduction. The cliff notes that he tossed to me in passing were that while some species of animals and plants can indeed reproduce without a partner, two contributing units of DNA make for a far more resilient offspring. 

The parallel with marriage is obvious. While there are more times than I like to admit that I wish John's opinions and responses were a clone of my own, the reality is that we would be doomed. 

I can see it now. A child breaks a leg and we both end up screaming and paralyzed with fear. Or both of us spring out of bed at 5:30 ready to face the day but no one can keep their eyes open past nine.  

While those may be small inconveniences in the scheme of running a family, to me they are indicative of the strength we inherit by our disparity. It reminds me of two legs walking. One steps forward, a.k.a. John assessing whether we need to head to the emergency room, while the other lags helplessly. Me. But then I swivel into action, as I did when Ben was hospitalized for eleven days, and John retreats to the background. The rhythm of walking gives us each respite. 

All through the year I methodically file pertinent tax papers, which if it had been left to John would be lost in pockets and dresser drawers. Then when April slips half way through the hour glass I hand the  stack to him and he does something I have not evolved enough to accomplish. He files our joint return. Don't tell the IRS but this year he finished after 9 pm and forged my signature.