‘It is routine to check whether you are related to a romantic partner before you get serious’: This is how we do it in Iceland

Sigrún, 38

Einar and I are both impulsive people. We got together when I was 20, and I had decided – even before our first kiss – that Einar was going to be my husband. In Iceland, it is routine to check whether you are related to a romantic partner before you get serious, so I looked up Einar’s ancestry two months into our relationship. We use a website called Íslendingabók to prevent accidental incest. The Icelandic population is so small that I didn’t log on to it thinking: is Einar my relative? It would be hard to meet an Icelandic man who is not at least slightly related to me. Instead, the question was: how closely related are we?

I remember standing in my grandparents’ hallway 18 years ago, searching Einar’s name on Íslendingabók. My mother and grandfather were peering over my shoulder at the computer, waiting for the family tree to load. I felt more curious than worried. Unless there is a huge family secret, it’s rare to find out that your boyfriend is your half-sibling. Luckily, Einar and I only share a great-great-great-great-grandfather.

One year later, I was pregnant with our first child. Becoming a parent at only 22 was the most impulsive decision of my life – and meant I had less time and energy for sex, so I settled for less. Einar is a kind lover, but in the early years of our relationship, sex would end with his orgasm, but not necessarily mine. It was only about 10 years ago, after doing some reading around sexuality, that I realised that Einar didn’t have to “give” me an orgasm. I focused more on touching my clitoris during sex and taking charge of lovemaking. We got together so young that neither of us really understood our own bodies. I felt I was in my head performing sex, whereas I’ve learned to focus deeply on my sensations.

We have more satisfying sex now – partly because we are super-efficient about dividing childcare duties. In Iceland, we talk a lot about the “third shift”: all the invisible scheduling the mother does, on top of regular childcare. Recently we divided up every task to avoid resentment. Sometimes, Einar is the one scolding me about neglecting my chores and I find that a big turn-on, because it reminds me that I don’t have full responsibility for the household. If there’s a pile of dirty laundry in our bedroom I know it’s Einar’s job, not mine. Which makes it easier for me to ignore the laundry altogether, and have sex instead.

Einar, 36

You hear urban myths about two Icelanders having sex then realising afterwards that they are brother and sister. But I knew that was very unlikely in our case, so I just felt mildly interested when Sigrún traced our family connection. Romantic partners check each other out on Íslendingabók, in the way you might peruse a crush’s Instagram account; it is one part of the ritual online stalk you do when you’re dating. It’s a bit of fun to realise that your partner is your fourth cousin, twice removed.

Sigrún and I becoming parents so young felt like a huge adventure. We have a word in Icelandic – “hrifnæm” – that means “open to experiencing the world”, and I think it perfectly sums up Sigrún’s character. She is continually amazed by people, whereas I find my own emotions more difficult to express. We have three kids now, and even though a lot of our life is spent wiping bogies, her sense of wonder keeps the spark between us alive.

Our sex life has gone through many phases. When I was younger, I found it difficult to tell Sigrún what I liked and disliked during sex; I worried that giving honest feedback would spoil the moment. But now we do a regular relationship check-in where we talk about how sex can be improved, in the same way we might talk about the mortgage payment plan. I’ve started to see our sex life as being a bit like a car; I like to be continually tinkering away at it. You can drive a broken car for a few years but eventually it’s going to crash.

Callout

Whether or not I’ve done the housework has a definite effect on our sex life. We have a system where I take care of the cooking and cleaning and Sigrún takes the “third watch”: scheduling, and admin. Iceland has a reputation for being a feminist country, but I’m not sure how true that is. Among the couples I know, childcare is divided equally, but it’s usually the woman who has to initiate a conversation about division of labour. Sigrún certainly initiated it in our relationship. Recently, we’ve started to experiment with a little power-play in the bedroom. I’ll take control and tell Sigrún what to do, which I don’t think she would enjoy had we not divided the chore list so equally. In order to play with power in the bedroom you need equality outside the bedroom.