If you are super interested in why, because I rocked up into his life and set a bomb off in it. He always knew he would get married, have a white wedding, have a wife with his name wearing his ring, many children with his name, live happily ever after, he loved the whole romantic idea, what’s what all his three siblings have, that’s what his parents and grandparents have always had and etcetera, etcetera, he comes from a middle class world of shiny perfect lifelong marriages.
Shame for him that met a raging feminist from the wrong side of the tracks who’s been dragged up, not brought up, by abusive, criminal parents who were (shock, horror) divorced. There isn’t a white wedding photo in the entire (slim) photo album nor a happy marriage to aspire to.
I was very clear that to make a life with me would mean sacrificing all ideas of weddings, white or otherwise, all ambitions for a married life, i would not be called a wife or a Mrs or have an an engagement party at the church hall and invite all his family and have a seating plan. I told him for sure we would never have a wedding photo for his family wall, in fact we have only a handful of snaps of us together ever. I would never change my name to his - but he was always welcome to change his to mine if he felt that strongly about it being the same. I would never indulge his fantasy of a blushing bride, and there is no way to compromise on getting married. He loves the ideas of proposals, romance, big weddings, he would thrive at a wedding and love to have a wife and be called a husband. He’s not getting any of it, ever. I’m glad he decided that was a compromise he could make because we’ve had a lovely life so far. If we broke up I’m sure he would be married to someone else in double quick time, but maybe that’s not what the world meant for him after all.
It is the tradition to give the children the mothers name. So I blew that out of the water too and gave them his.