Paul Steinmetz thinks about what it means to be a committed husband and father
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The first time you have kids, it can happen without understanding the magnitude of what is about to happen to your life. By the time my wife and I decided to adopt, we already had three children, and I knew well what was coming. So I decided to negotiate an agreement.
It was simple: She would go back to work full-time after a reasonable period, we would keep the house uncluttered, and we would continue to have sex.
I recalled our agreement when our daughter, Mahelet, entered a new loud and screechy phase. At that same moment, Jenine got a head cold. The house was a disaster, with clothes or the junk of daily living piled in every room. And the worst part was that Jenine wasn’t paying any attention to me. Everything was Mahelet, Mahelet, Mahelet and I was not getting any of Jenine’s emotional or physical attention. Sure, I told myself, raising a kid is difficult for both parents. I know that, and I know the mother is going to pour all of herself into that kid, to the exclusion of most everything else.
When I thought about our agreement, I felt confused. No, angry. Jenine had promised we would have sex whenever I wanted it. She would listen to me when I was talking to her. It’s just one more kid—we can make it work!
I recognize that I am selfish and I try to fight it. On the other hand, we did talk about this next adventure in our life—honestly, I thought—and we made an agreement. I felt I had been dismissed, along with my concerns. Consumed with these thoughts, I of course became surly. Then Jenine told me that at her last doctor’s visit, 10 days earlier, the doctor had been concerned about a growth on her uterus.
I recognize that I am selfish and I try to fight it. On the other hand…
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She had been feeling a pain in her abdomen but didn’t tell me about it, and didn’t tell me what the doctor had said, because she didn’t want me to worry. At that moment, I began to worry obsessively and I went quickly to the worst outcome: What am I going to do if she dies?
I realize, yet again, I sound selfish. My concerns were compounded by the grief that I was already touching. They also included my fear at the thought of raising Mahelet alone. For our daughter, Jenine was all of it.
As it turned out, Jenine had raced quickly to the worst outcome, too. Watching a little girl lose two moms was beyond her comprehension. We all understand that life is sometimes unfair, but enough hardship can punch a person down too far. I tried to push the worst consequences to the side, far away from day-to-day consciousness, but those are the kind of thoughts that weighed on both of us. Happily, at her next appointment, a second doctor told Jenine everything was fine.
I was joyous—and felt guilty for all my selfish thoughts about sex, mostly, and about my desire for a clean house and my complaints about how Jenine didn’t yet have a regular job. Those things didn’t matter, for a while, anyway. It’s a commitment thing.
♦◊♦
In preparation for our wedding, we met with Jenine’s family minister to talk about our service and marriage in general. He asked what we liked about each other and why we wanted to get married, whether we were planning children and if we could afford to live as a family. Then he asked us to explain love. It’s easier to feel than to put into words, we discovered. But the key seemed to be that love makes you want to be with this other person more than anything else. We qualified.
That was good, the minister said, because if we weren’t willing to stick it out, to be true to one another and work to solve our future problems, we could forget it, he wouldn’t marry us.
He asked if we thought we could make our marriage last the rest of our lives.
Then he sat back, arms folded, and one after the other, locked each of us in a glare.
I felt myself thinking, almost against my will: “This is the time, boy. You can call it off now. No marriage whatsoever. Bachelorhood and no responsibilities.”
Everything scary about marriage ran sloppily through my brain. I didn’t figure out exactly what I was feeling until later: Letting someone rely on you totally is frightening. It is also invigorating and comfortable.
Letting someone rely on you totally is frightening. It is also invigorating and comfortable.
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Being able to lean on your wife is reassuring. But to be the rock, to have someone love me like that, that’s what had never happened before. I hadn’t gone into this meeting even remotely considering not marrying Jenine; I had made up my mind long before. But now the alternative was presented and the minister awaited our reply.
Jenine and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and mumbled that we would do it.
♦◊♦
Deciding to become parents, and especially to adopt, was more calculating. Kids are satisfying and meaningful, and they are difficult work and while it might occur for some people without happiness or satisfaction, the bond is always complete, which should put some pressure on the dad to do a good job. A father and child don’t ever divorce, at least not emotionally. I had enough experience now to understand that parenthood is forever, always and absolutely.
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Image: Pawel Loj/Flickr