It’s a weeknight at around 11 p.m., and I’m huddled under my bed sheets nearly at the gates of Dreamland when a sound comes from the adjoining bathroom. Jolted from a semi-conscious state, my ears hone in on the creature’s wild ramblings. First a growl, then a couple of sniffs, a stomp or two. Lastly, an overly dramatic sigh followed by these bellowing words: “Erin! Can you PLEASE get all of your hairs out of the sink? They’re so gross!”

I settle back into my slumber. This is no fierce creature in my home. This is my husband, and this is yet another “getting acquainted” moment in our marriage.

April 21 marked our first wedding anniversary, a year I don’t pretend has been carefree ... not like some new brides who gloat that married life is just the proverbial fondant icing on the cake.

The truth is, marriage is hard. It’s learning to co-exist and hopefully thrive with someone you thought you knew. Marriage is just like MTV’s “The Real World” tagline: “It’s when people stop being polite and start getting real.”

During the first year, the reality of our individual habits induced near insanity. To Husband, I shed more hair than a golden retriever in mid-July. (He’s right.) Overnight it seems, Husband’s piles — mail, magazines and other random slips of paper — split off and multiply throughout the house. Word on the street is that piling is a “man thing.” I must have missed that memo.

My hairs are his papers. My inability to stir a cup of coffee without sloshing it all over the kitchen counter is his pile of dirty dishes in the sink, despite an empty dishwasher waiting to receive them. I only know how much money I have by checking my balance online, while Husband meticulously tallies his funds in a ledger. I change my car’s oil when my dashboard light tells me to, but Husband marks his exact 3,000-mile change in his day planner.

None of these quirks mattered during our five-year, often long-distance courtship because they never materialized until the wedding rings slipped onto our fingers and we moved under the same roof. These habits create friction and harsh words, often dousing the flames of desire that married women know aren’t always scorching 24/7.

“Who is this person with whom I share (in no particular order) a bank account/bed/bottle of wine?”

Learning in this first year that Husband is anything other than a great kisser, skilled conversationalist and the smoothest driver around makes me wonder more than once, “Who is this person with whom I share (in no particular order) a bank account/bed/bottle of wine?” Adapting to and accepting the little things takes a lot of patience.

However, finances aren’t so little. Before marriage, my money was all mine. I could blow through it at T.J. Maxx or save it for a trip to Brazil. Now, as a married couple, we’re adapting to integrated finances. I still have my own checkbook, but Husband and I share an account for expenses. And let’s not forget the most delightful financial aspect — shared taxes.

Our marriage is green in other ways, too, like learning more about what kind of life the other wants to live. Though I thought I knew Husband down to his very core, a recent prospective job change left us reeling. The idea of moving back to a small mountain town we left several years ago rocked our young foundation. One of us liked the idea of a smaller community surrounded by people and places we knew so well. The other wanted a more urban environment and a chance to meet different people and experience new things. A conversation about cities spawned new thoughts on when to buy homes, raise babies, change careers and other major life decisions we pretty much figured we would sort out later.

“Later” arrived sooner than we anticipated, so we’re quickly figuring out how to create our own common ground in an unfamiliar city and develop patience with new situations and old habits. And, while none of that is a piece of cake, I’m happy to settle for the aforementioned sweet icing.