Before you start sending me nasty emails, let me
explain. This may surprise some of you,
but I do go to church. The last several times we have gone have resulted in me making an unexpected and teary exit
before the service is finished. Anything
can trigger the weeping. It could be
something said during the sermon or it could be the feeling of being surrounded
by pregnant bellies everywhere (or 2 out of 150 people—those are overwhelming
numbers) or it could be lint balls floating in the air. Sometimes I have to leave during the sermon,
but occasionally I can wait until a song and sneak out while everyone is
standing. I think the people at church
might be getting worried. The poor greeter guy at the door looks like a deer in
the headlights as I pass by him weeping.
He is an older gentleman and is so sweet and kind. He always smiles and says hi as we enter the
sanctuary and I am dry-eyed. When I am
making my hasty, red-eyed exit, he looks like can’t decide whether to ask me if
I am okay or to run in the other direction.
I just keep my head down and get out the door as fast as possible. I go to the car and wait patiently for my
family to join me.
My baby daddy picks up the kids from child care and gets
everyone out to the car. Then he draws a
steadying breath and tries to determine what level of freak out he is going to
have to deal with. He has tried a
variety of questions to ascertain this information. I believe I saw him whip out the mental notebook
and jot down a quick note that, “So what set you off this time?” was a poor
question choice last Sunday. Depending
on the level, he will begin damage control.
Sometimes it is just hand-holding and quiet understanding. Other times it involves telling Crazy that he
understands what she is going through.
He’s getting better and better at determining the most appropriate
course of action. He’s a natural
problem-solver, my man.
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