"We need to talk. Can I meet you somewhere?" (Uh, sure hon. I can meet you for lunch.)
"No. Now." ((Long pause.) Uh......Oooo-kaaay. Can you come up here?)
"Yep. I'm on my way already." I really was too. I had already driven 12 miles down the highway. My family and friends call it a serious case of impatience, but I like to think of it as efficiency. I mean, I am going to see him. Now. There is no debating necessary. Gee, I guess that's more of the stubborn vs. determined argument, isn't it?
Hubby would later tell me that he spent that half hour trying to go over in his mind every possible thing he could have done to make me so upset that I would "need to talk." I was just surprised he had to use the entire half hour. I mean, what all have you done that I don't know about, honey? That is a pretty significant amount of time to use up. Three years later, he still hasn't confessed.
He was in the parking lot waiting for me. I pulled up and he was already at the truck's door, and the look on his face said he was seriously scared. Not worried. Scared. I had used that half hour trying to calm my mind and focus on how to tell him. We had been married for almost 14 years at this point. We had had the family talk many times during those years - at first neither of us wanted kids, we enjoyed our freedom too much, the world was too screwed up to bring another child into it, we could always adopt, my health issues could go haywire with a pregnancy, our life was settled the way it was. I tried to convince myself, especially in the later years, that I was really okay with the idea of not having kids. Really, I was. My medical conditions were too serious to risk throwing all my hormones out of whack (another future post discussion, but it is a biggie so I have to muster up some courage for it). How would I possibly survive post partem if I couldn't take care of myself, much less a baby? What would that do to poor hubby? I couldn't risk putting him through that. And he resolutely expressed, every single time, that he did not want kids.
But the previous September I had been really enjoying life. I was outside soaking up a beautiful Colorado summer's end. I was riding my horse four to five times a week, training her for some fantastic opportunities, such as possible shows or parades and maybe even drill team work (those shows you see where several ladies riding perform intricate patterns choreographed to music). I was also going out dancing with my girlfriends at a local Western bar - nothing flirtatious or inappropriate, but pairs dancing with men at the club who knew how to dance. Very, very well. I had discussed with hubby ahead of time and got his okay. I wanted him to know it was for my emotional health, not a risk to our relationship.
Turns out, it was quite a boost instead. One of my favorite partners, a dear ex-rancher in his early 70s, told me something quite memorable during those days. He said, "if he really wants to romance a woman, a man should learn how to dance. Close. Strong. Traditional, with your own brand of confidence." He was the best dancer I had ever partnered with, because he made me the best dancer. He was such a strong leader I couldn't take a false step, and that made me relax and dance my heart out.
It also released in me a ton of romance. Not the rancher.....the dancing! A ton of romance. I just love to dance, and I would come home in love. I don't think hubby minded that too much. As long as I was in love with him.
Flash forward 2 1/2 months. I am getting out of the truck. As I do, I hand the pee stick to hubby (who is still completely confused), look up at him, burst into tears and cry, "I'm sorry!" I kid you not, that is how I announced to my husband that we were going to be parents. Not exactly a confidence builder, is it?
Hubby would later tell me that he spent that half hour trying to go over in his mind every possible thing he could have done to make me so upset that I would "need to talk." I was just surprised he had to use the entire half hour. I mean, what all have you done that I don't know about, honey? That is a pretty significant amount of time to use up. Three years later, he still hasn't confessed.
He was in the parking lot waiting for me. I pulled up and he was already at the truck's door, and the look on his face said he was seriously scared. Not worried. Scared. I had used that half hour trying to calm my mind and focus on how to tell him. We had been married for almost 14 years at this point. We had had the family talk many times during those years - at first neither of us wanted kids, we enjoyed our freedom too much, the world was too screwed up to bring another child into it, we could always adopt, my health issues could go haywire with a pregnancy, our life was settled the way it was. I tried to convince myself, especially in the later years, that I was really okay with the idea of not having kids. Really, I was. My medical conditions were too serious to risk throwing all my hormones out of whack (another future post discussion, but it is a biggie so I have to muster up some courage for it). How would I possibly survive post partem if I couldn't take care of myself, much less a baby? What would that do to poor hubby? I couldn't risk putting him through that. And he resolutely expressed, every single time, that he did not want kids.
But the previous September I had been really enjoying life. I was outside soaking up a beautiful Colorado summer's end. I was riding my horse four to five times a week, training her for some fantastic opportunities, such as possible shows or parades and maybe even drill team work (those shows you see where several ladies riding perform intricate patterns choreographed to music). I was also going out dancing with my girlfriends at a local Western bar - nothing flirtatious or inappropriate, but pairs dancing with men at the club who knew how to dance. Very, very well. I had discussed with hubby ahead of time and got his okay. I wanted him to know it was for my emotional health, not a risk to our relationship.
Turns out, it was quite a boost instead. One of my favorite partners, a dear ex-rancher in his early 70s, told me something quite memorable during those days. He said, "if he really wants to romance a woman, a man should learn how to dance. Close. Strong. Traditional, with your own brand of confidence." He was the best dancer I had ever partnered with, because he made me the best dancer. He was such a strong leader I couldn't take a false step, and that made me relax and dance my heart out.
It also released in me a ton of romance. Not the rancher.....the dancing! A ton of romance. I just love to dance, and I would come home in love. I don't think hubby minded that too much. As long as I was in love with him.
Flash forward 2 1/2 months. I am getting out of the truck. As I do, I hand the pee stick to hubby (who is still completely confused), look up at him, burst into tears and cry, "I'm sorry!" I kid you not, that is how I announced to my husband that we were going to be parents. Not exactly a confidence builder, is it?
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