I’m a big fan of Google. In fact, I can’t figure out what I used to do before we all got the Internet in 1995. I have vague memories of looking things up in books, and there’s a foggy recollection of something called an encyclopedia, but luckily enough none of that appears to matter anymore. Now all I have to do to have any question of mine answered is type a few choice keywords into a little search field and – hey presto – seconds later, I have an answer.

Today, after being incredibly frustrated at my lack of time and searching for a suitable prospect to attach blame too, I decided to Google ‘doctor’s wife’. Mostly just for something to do, but I’ve also had this sneaking suspicion for a while that I’ve been stamped with a stereotype. No longer am I the independent woman of my dreams. No, now I’m the glamorous wife of a doctor; living in the lap of luxury and being driven in a glossy black limo between my various social soirées by a distinguished butler named Charles.

Yeah. I wish.

I don’t know where the whole ‘glamorous is the life of a doctors wife’ idea came from but clearly it wasn’t from the spouse of a medical professional. Sure, the money is good – The Boy and I are lucky enough to be able to do what we like without too much of a worry – but glamour? Between running my own life, my own business, and the bits of The Boy’s life that he’s simply to busy to take care of himself I don’t exactly have time for glamour. I don’t even have time for The Boy. That’s if I even get to see him when he’s not completely wrecked after seven 14 hour shifts taking care of everyone else.

Amusingly enough there are whole websites dedicated to the lives of doctors wives. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer number of sites that talk about ‘our internship years’ or ‘our current residency’. What? Last time I looked I had nothing to do with my partners internship, unless you count washing his scrubs and searching the house in the wee hours of the morning for his misplaced ID card.

Yes, at times it’s a little bit frustrating. Often its very lonely. Never have I found it to be glamorous, perhaps because I don’t tend to define myself by who my partner is but rather by what I alone achieve. Mostly I find it pretty normal. And some days I wonder how I got sucked in to being a mother, a secretary and a girlfriend all at once. If only he weren’t so damn lovable.