My dear husband has the emotional sensitivity of a rhino in heat. During one of the five years we dated, we were going through a particularly rough patch over the Thanksgiving holiday, which the family decided to pack up and carry out in Des Moines. Because we weren’t getting along, Sparring Partner didn’t attend. And me, being a sappy girl in love, called him several times, and in one of the phone exchanges I wailed into the phone hoping to instill some guilt, some emotion, from him: “You don’t LOVE me!” to which he replied, “No. Not as much as I use to.”
Obviously he fell in love again and after threatening him with an ultimatum, marry me or I’m moving one (who’s PWND now, mister!), we were able to accept each other’s emotional – and lack thereof – responses.
Last night we went out with the in-laws. SIL exclaims, “Did Sparring Partner tell you the news?!” and most anyone who has gone through years of infertility will always have the first thought be that someone’s pregnant.
My first thought was correct.
“Number 5!” she announced excitedly.
So Daughter#1 is percolating Baby#3. Didn’t I mention not long ago something about Dueling Uteri. Cue the banjos:
- D#1 had Baby #1
- D#2 had Baby #1
- D#1 had Baby #2
- D#2 had Baby #2
- D#1 is due with Baby #3
All within the past four years.
Mark your calendars for next year…
But that’s not really the point, or at least the one I care to get into right now. The reason I mentioned how insensitive SP can be is when we later walked out to the car, I told him thanks for the heads up *sarcasm*.
And he said, “I didn’t know that it would still bother you.”
“You wouldn’t.” was my reply.
Yes, it still bothers me. It will for a very long time. I would love to meet that person who it DOESN’T bother and maybe they’d share their secret with me, and then in turn, share it with you.