The Wedding

Jane sat up and set the catalog aside. I knew she could tell from Anna’s voice that something serious was coming. The last time Anna had acted like this, she’d informed us that she would be moving in with Keith.

I know, I know. But she was an adult, and what could I do?

“What is it, honey?” Jane asked.

Anna looked from Jane to me and back to Jane again before taking a deep breath.

“I’m getting married,” she said.

I’ve come to believe that children live for the satisfaction of surprising their parents, and Anna’s announcement was no exception.

In fact, everything associated with having children has been surprising. There’s a common lament that the first year of marriage is the hardest, but for Jane and myself, this was not true. Nor was the seventh year, the year of the supposed itch, the most difficult.

No, for us—aside from the past few years, perhaps—the most challenging years were those that followed the births of our children. There seems to be a misconception, especially among those couples who’ve yet to have kids, that the first year of a child’s life resembles a Hallmark commercial, complete with cooing babies and smiling, calm parents.

In contrast, my wife still refers to that period as “the hateful years.” She says this tongue-in-cheek, of course, but I strongly doubt she wants to relive them any more than I do.

By “hateful,” what Jane meant was this: There were moments when she hated practically everything. She hated how she looked and how she felt. She hated women whose br**sts didn’t ache and women who still fit into their clothes. She hated how oily her skin became and hated the pimples that appeared for the first time since adolescence. But it was the lack of sleep that raised her ire most of all, and consequently, nothing irritated her more than hearing stories of other mothers whose infants slept through the night within weeks of leaving the hospital. In fact, she hated everyone who had the opportunity to sleep more than three hours at a stretch, and there were times, it seemed, that she even hated me for my role in all this. After all, I couldn’t breast-feed, and because of my long hours at the law firm, I had no choice but to sleep in the guest room occasionally so I could function at the office the next day. Though I’m certain that she understood this intellectually, it often didn’t seem that way.

“Good morning,” I might say when I saw her staggering into the kitchen. “How did the baby sleep?”

Instead of answering, she would sigh impatiently as she moved toward the coffeepot.

“Up a lot?” I’d ask tentatively.

“You wouldn’t last a week.”

On cue, the baby would start to cry. Jane would grit her teeth, slam her coffee cup down, and look as if she wondered why it was that God seemed to hate her so.

In time, I learned it was wiser not to say anything.

Then, of course, there is the fact that having a child transforms the basic marriage relationship. No longer are you simply husband and wife, you are mother and father as well, and all spontaneity vanishes immediately. Going out to dinner? Have to find out whether her parents can watch the baby, or if another sitter is available. New movie playing at the theater? Haven’t seen one of these in over a year. Weekend getaways? Couldn’t even conceive of them. There was no time to do those things that had encouraged us to fall in love in the first place—walking and talking and spending time alone—and this was difficult for both of us.

This is not to say that the first year was entirely miserable. When people ask me what it’s like to be a parent, I say that it’s among the hardest things you’ll ever do, but in exchange, it teaches you the meaning of unconditional love. Everything a baby does strikes a parent as the most magical thing he or she has ever seen. I’ll always remember the day each of my children first smiled at me; I remember clapping and watching the tears spill down Jane’s face as they took their first steps; and there is nothing quite as peaceful as holding a sleeping child in the comfort of your arms and wondering how it’s possible to care so deeply. Those are the moments that I find myself remembering in vivid detail now. The challenges—though I can speak of them dispassionately—are nothing but distant and foggy images, more akin to a dream than reality.

No, there’s no experience quite like having children, and despite the challenges we once faced, I’ve considered myself blessed because of the family we created.

As I said, however, I’ve just learned to be prepared for surprises.

At Anna’s statement, Jane jumped up from the couch with a squeal and immediately wrapped Anna in her arms. She and I were both very fond of Keith. When I offered my congratulations and a hug, Anna responded with a cryptic smile.

“Oh, honey,” Jane repeated, “this is just wonderful! . . . How did he ask you? . . . When? . . . I want to hear all about it. . . . Let me see the ring. . . .”

After the burst of questions, I could see my wife’s face fall when Anna began shaking her head.

“It’s not going to be that kind of wedding, Mom. We already live together, and neither of us wants to make a big deal about this. It’s not like we need another blender or salad bowl.”

Her statement didn’t surprise me. Anna, as I’ve mentioned, has always done things her own way.

“Oh . . . ,” Jane said, but before she could say anything more, Anna reached for her hand.

“There’s something else, Mom. It’s kind of important.”

Anna glanced warily from me to Jane again.

“The thing is . . . well, you know how Grampa’s doing, right?”

We nodded. Like all my children, Anna had always been close to Noah.

“And with his stroke and all . . . well, Keith has really enjoyed getting to know him and I love him more than anything . . .”

She paused. Jane squeezed her hand, urging her to continue.

“Well, we want to get married while he’s still healthy, and none of us knows how long he really has. So Keith and I got to talking about possible dates, and with him heading off to Duke in a couple of weeks for his residency and the fact that I’m moving, too, and then Grampa’s health . . . well, we wondered if you two wouldn’t mind if . . .”

She trailed off, her gaze finally settling on Jane.

“Yes,” Jane whispered.

Anna drew a long breath. “We were thinking about getting married next Saturday.”