Now that my kids are out of the house, my husband and I get along swimmingly. I’d like to think it’s due to the fact that the stress of child rearing is behind us, that we’re mellowing out as we get older, or that we’re more accommodating towards one another, finally able to bask in the love that is the bedrock of our relationship.

Alas, that’s not what’s happening. As with so many things in life, it all comes down to one thing: hormones.

Thanks to decreasing levels of estrogen, I’m no longer a quivering mass of smothering maternal love, ready to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, whether it’s a true crisis or a Hallmark commercial. At the same time, my husband’s decreasing levels of testosterone mean that he’s no longer swaggering around wishing he could feel the bones in someone’s face crushing under his fist.

By now you’ve probably realized what’s really going on: I’m turning into him and he’s turning into me!

This would be hilarious, except that it’s happening to a lot of my friends, too. The men now have more patience while the women have less. Husbands are getting choked up at college graduations and fantasizing about playing with grandchildren, while their wives tell their young adult children to suck it up and get a job as they plan an extended trip that doesn’t include the whole family.

Frankly, it’s a relief to finally be on an even keel with my husband. And although we enjoy one another’s company more than ever these days, there is a nagging doubt at the back of my mind: maybe we should be embracing our differences, while we still can.