While swirling gusts of wind can be seen whipping autumn leaves off trees, Will and I, feeling warm and safe in our tiny dining room, are sitting at dinner on folding chairs at the card table, borrowed from my parents. Other than that borrowed card table and chairs, our four room, third floor, walk up apartment is utterly bare, except for the king sized box spring and mattress on our bedroom floor. If we glance around the bedroom, we'll spy a closet, where several blouses, skirts, dresses, shirts, pants and sport coats are hung, and directly across from the foot of our mattress stands a wall, where we might expect to find a dresser and chest; however there's nothing to see until our eyes travel down that wall to the floor, where a suitcase has been placed. Within this suitcase are Will's neatly folded garments, and next to that is a large department store box in which my clothing is stored. Oh, yes. I almost forgot. In the corner of our room, you'll see two wedding gifts, which Will and I feel ever so grateful to have received: A 19inch, black and white portable TV, perching atop its aluminum stand.
Though we own nothing other than Will's suitcase, that mattress, our clothes, the TV and an assortment of wedding gifts (all household necessities), shelved within a few kitchen cabinets (if our dining room is tiny, our cooking space is smaller, yet) we feel enriched rather than poor. Why? Because both hearts are buoyed with hopes of seeing our rosy future transform into tomorrow's reality, and having been raised by two sets of parents, whose resilence proved so resourceful as to stand up and move forward no matter how hard or often fate had knocked them down, my bridegroom and I rely, unconsciously, upon this strong spirited family trait of survivorship, pumping pluckily through Will's bloodstream and mine. In short, our unspoken mantra is: Try, try until success is won.
In addition to absorbing my parents' resilient sense of pluck, It was my good fortune to be raised by a father, whose hearty spirit proved so openly loving as to have injected my strong sense of survivorship with this intuitive belief: I, like my father, am naturally empowered to leap over tall buildings in a single bound in hopes of soaring toward thriving, and as long as that subconscious belief remained harbored deep within my brain, I'd felt empowered to wisk all of my loved ones to safety, where the depth of my love provided one and all protection from pain. Upon reflecting back over my childhood, We'd see a dark haired, blue eyed child, emulating her father's strong spirited enjoyment of high jinks while historically emulating responsible behaviors, role modeled by both of her parents to a fault, and once this introduction whisks teacher bride and doctor bridegroom into the realm of expectant parenthood, you'll see me shine up the baton, passed down from my parents, which served as a magic wand of resourcefulness with which this Pied Piper inspired three pint-sized Rambos to follow my lead, cooperatively rather than resentfully.
At any rate, I'm still pretty much a blushing bride, when, during dinner, I muster the courage to blurt out: I forgot to take my birth control pills for the last four days!
Upon hearing this, my husband, who'd 'known me in a biblical way', just last night, chokes mid swallow, and as his windpipe closes up, Will, who depends upon my salary to feed us, is fast turning from 'rosy' to purple as he barely manages to say: Geez! How could you let that happen?
While I fidget in my folding chair, you can hear me whine: I don't know! I picked up the pill dispenser, this morning, and saw those four pills staring back at me!
And thus does the waiting game begin ... until the blessed day dawns, when red stains appear, and with a sigh of relief, we rejoice to find that, once again, all is well in our mutually responsible world!
At twenty-four, my brand new husband of just a few months, is a fourth year med student, suggesting that my one-year old teaching degree must pay for our keep for another year before Will's many years of education reap any financial reward. So you can believe me when I say that not once, over the next year, will a day pass without Will reminding twenty-two year old me to swallow that little round pill—and in hopes of doubling Will's reminder with one of my own—I've Scotch taped a note to the medicine cabinet mirror that says: Take your pill or get pregnant, Dummy! ...
Once Will proudly takes part in the traditional cap and gown processional, during which the degree of doctor of medicine will be conferred upon himself and his buds, we'll flush whatever is left in that month's circular birth control pill container away, because both of us adore kids, and we can't wait to have, hold, love and play with one of our own. As to knowing what it takes to raise the next generation, effectively (as well as joyously, which will be a given for me) well, we were so naive as to have had no qualms about need to discipline our young for this reason: Will and I had been such exemplary kids that neither of us had a clue of this fact: Raising babies to become caring, compassionate, responsible adults, over an eighteen year period, proves to be one of life's most daunting challenges.
As most young people feel eager to
Experience life as we perceive it to be
Will and I are in a hurry to get a bun in the oven until
Fate steps in and much to our dismay Will and I learn
How little control we have over the timing of our baby-making plan
And thus does the waiting game begin, again ...
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