Not a Father's Day

As we sat in church yesterday, before the minister spoke a single word, a huge lump formed in my throat and I wondered if today bothered my husband as much as Mother’s Day bothered me. He didn’t mention it. His facial expressions (or lack thereof, I mean its church- He typically yawns and looks at his watch a lot) gave nothing away. He even accepted the money clip, passed out to all the ‘dads’ or any male of adult age, with what resembled pride. Even if his stupid wife did say immediately, BUT YOU’RE NOT A DAD. Way to go, girl. WAY.TO.GO.

I know he is male. I know has to be strong. But it had to sting at least a little. Thankfully, the sermon did not focus on being a parent but more on setting a godly example for everyone you meet. I could have seriously hugged the guy after the service. Shockingly enough, he and his wife are unable to bear children. Or adopt. Go figure.

On the way home, while discussing some things that are up in the air for us, he said, out loud for the first time, we should focus on a pregnancy first. I have felt so alone up until this point, like the burden was completely on my shoulders. But now, it felt like he was making the decision too. Like this meant as much to him as it meant to me. Like for the first time, maybe since we got married, that we were husband and wife and this was our plan to move forward. Together.

I would have given my life to be able to wish this man a Happy Father’s Day yesterday.