DH and I had a wonderful marriage. We adored each other. It was never “work”. He was the love of my life. He rescued me from my abusive parents, showed me what love is, cared for me, did more than half the chores, and was a brilliant daddy to our babies, right up to his death at 36. I still miss him, 27 years later. I wish the DC had memories of him, but he died before DD2’s first birthday.
I think if a marriage is hard work, there’s something wrong with it. Unless my DH was exceptional - which I’m quite prepared to believe!