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Today (well, not today but on the day I started writing this blog post), as I toiled away spring cleaning the stove, a thought popped into my head. As per usual when these things happen, the thought nagged and refused to leave until I’d pressurized it and beaten it into oblivion with my mental broom.

The thought was, what do you do when you are married to someone whose ambitions have resulted in a marriage of lacklustre and neglect? You see, us millennials have risen to the daunting challenge of work, life and achieving balance with astonishing ferocity. The foundations and social structures of our society weren’t built on the premise of two people being ambitious in a marriage. It favored one (we all know which one) going out and making the bacon. Whether or not the had time to be a spouse of help with the rearing of children wasn’t really a consideration. But we have broken moulds and barriers. We demand more than dull, passing existences.

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I feel like much of the financial education advice put out there says it’s geared to everyone and how to create wealth, but I don’t find that to be the case most of the time at all. Much of it considers the family with a fair bit of income to spare, which as we know, leaves a significant portion of the population to fend for themselves.

Here’s why I say that. I don’t know about you, but every time I sit down with a financial advisor, the insouciant mention of an investment or savings plan for different things that casually involves an additional J$50,000 per month in disposable income to protect the family always throws me for a loop.

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Last night, for the longest time in ‘I don’t know how long’ I spent about three hours on Skype with two girlfriends. We talked. A lot. About many, many things including social media and perception. As the conversation grew wings and took on varying subject matters, I listened to how they felt about perception, online identity and what people thought about them when the conversation turned to social media and being who you ‘post’ to be.

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Patriarchy, in all its wisdom and dictation has throughout history projected sex (between partners of opposite sex) as an act to be performed on or to women with little thought to their satisfaction. This lead to the universal understanding that sex was either for procreation or to service the male counterpart’s pleasure and basic need for release. It simply wasn’t a woman’s place to neither like nor enjoy it.

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From the time my husband and I started dating, his professional path was something that I took honest consideration about, among other things. Not to be a brat, but as someone who was a student nurse myself once upon a time, I was intimately familiar with the curriculum, it’s demands and assumed (correctly) that students who study medicine had little time for much else.

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You won’t believe this, but I bought the first bottle of sunflower oil based on a tweet that said something about oil lifting boobs. I’m not gonna lie, I had barely B-Cup boobs pre-pregnancy, and during breastfeeding found myself busting out of a D-Cup. Now I am back to a barely B-Cup after breastfeeding for thirteen months. If you’re a mom, you know exactly what I’m saying. These titties are striped and stretched, okay! But I bought the wrong one, turns out the oil I was supposed to get was actually Pumpkin Seed Oil! Poor me.

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I celebrated my birthday this past weekend. When the shit hit the fan in March and everything recreational went into lockdown, I wondered if it would carry through until August. Common sense said most likely it would, and though my birthdays are usually spent pretty low-key and simply unwinding by going to dinner or a weekend at a hotel, I made a bit of peace with the fact that staying in my living room and saying “Thank you God for another orbit trip” would cover it.

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