Check marks under two columns of a mind’s-eye list of why I should push Bill and why I shouldn’t:
He would be a wonderful father.
He would be a terrible father.
On a weekend when Annilee and Shannon visited, Bill played full-force through the first afternoon, the first evening, the next morning. He pretend-juggled boiled eggs that dropped and cracked on the floor, cooked his special spaghetti at night, special pancakes in the morning. Annilee curled up next to him on the sofa when we watched movies. Her love settled on him. He stayed completely still so he didn’t disturb her sleepy eyes, her arm resting on his leg.
Wonderful. Check mark.
It all went well until late the next morning, when he got tired and we wanted to keep playing. Until he had a headache. His body was ten years older than mine. In his mid-forties, his health was not always good. Even without children, there were times he needed to have a rest, when his stomach was upset, when his back hurt.
The girls and I played cards quiet while we waited for him. Him stretched out on the sofa, arm over eyes. Whisper cards. Go Fish, Old Maid. “When will Uncle Bill be ready to play again?” the girls asked.
“Pretty soon.” I felt as disappointed as they were. How could he go from such big fun to such big tired?
Terrible. Check mark.
After his rest we all went fun again until six holes into a game of putt-putt golf. Small dimpled balls through crazy mazes. Until Annilee missed three times in a row and Bill said in a hard voice, “Pay attention, you aren’t trying hard enough.” Her chin trembled, and her trusting heart went to a lower flame.
I didn’t put myself between them. I was perky and extra careful with Annilee. Said, “It’s okay. You’re doing great. This is just for fun.” Maybe later he even apologized to her. Maybe she even hit the ball, hole-in-one. I don’t remember.
Was this how it would feel to share a child of our own? Would he be hard discipline coach and I be comfort? Would that be the awful tension between us? Me too easy. Him too hard. The child in the middle.
At night, after I tucked the girls into the bed in the guest room and crawled into bed with Bill, he wrapped his arms around me. “I love watching you,” he said. “You have so much fun with them.”
I wished his next words would be: I love it so much that I want to have our own. But there were no next words.
Terrible.
I felt a relief in the absence of these wished words. That he was taking the burden of the choice from me, because I had my doubts.
Wonderful.