A Trip to the Store

“Two are better than one…for if they fall, one will lift up his companion.” 

Ecclesiastes 4:9b & 10

 About a month into our “trying,” Sunday thought that we should go to the store together to purchase a test.  The idea behind purchasing a test was, of course, different for me and Sunday.  For Sunday, it was the true beginning, a time for us to start this marriage anew.  A time for us to bond, both as parents and as a married couple.  It was a time to share in this wonderful experience. 

For me, the trip to the store to buy a test was…a trip to the store to buy a test.  It was that and nothing more.  It was a check on the to-do list, a fifteen minute detour on the way to the movie rental place.  I didn’t consider the change in our lives this meant.  My mind wasn’t in it. 

I was going to discover that a “difference of opinion” was going to be constant.

Although we wanted to get the test, the Lord himself hid the test from us both.  Usually, items to be sold in a store are not hidden from the public.  But this pregnancy test was in the outermost corner of our local Kroger.  We took 45 minutes looking for this pregnancy test, while taking up the valuable time of the surly teenage checkout clerk we had asked to help us.  As we left the store, I didn’t care whether we were expecting or not.  I just never wanted to go looking for another test again.

By the time we got a movie and got home, Sunday and I both were silent.  I was still brooding over the unbelievable administrative breakdown in the Kroger store, and Sunday was thinking of our child. 

There are people who talk about “women’s intuition” being something that a man can never attain and never understand.  I used to get defensive about that.  I thought, “I can connect on that kind of level.  If I can’t, I am sure other men can.” 

That one trip to Kroger taught me something:  Sunday’s thoughts are drastically different from mine. 

We’re pretty good at being on the same wave length on many things, but pregnancy did not allow us to start at the same place.  For Sunday, having a child was a culmination of a lifetime of expectation.  No matter how you were raised—from tomboy to Southern belle—if you’re a girl, at some point someone asks about having children.  On top of that, girls actually pretend to nurture and care for small children.  The physical reality of having a uterus guaranteed that Sunday would be more prepared to handle this stuff.  Just mentioning the thought “trying” to have kids brought a deluge feelings and thoughts and expectations on her.  (To me, it meant sex).  She already carried the expectation of children with her when we got married.  

Not the same with me—I wasn’t thinking about children when we got married.  I used to pretend to blow up and destroy stuff.  Not quite “nurture and care.”  I went through most of my life without thinking about pregnancy or childbirth.  In fact, the closest I got to thinking about children was the act that produced them.    

Sure, we’d had conversations about our child rearing philosophies and goals.  Sunday’s input was based on years of reflection and thought.  My responses showcased my ability to make up answers on the fly. 

From the start, this pregnancy was headed for head-aches.  It wasn’t going to be easy.  And I wasn’t paying attention.  We were a train wreck waiting to happen.