Tonight Parker and I attended a church function for married couples, sort of a way to meet other people in your same stage of life in order to develop close relationships. The elusive "couple friends" that us married people always talk about. Overall, it was pretty nice, though a little awkward. I guess making new friends is always a little awkward, ever since kindergarten ended and it began to take a little more effort than just sharing a toy or taking turns on the slide.
So we're in a stranger's house with about 25 couples ranging in age from about 23 to 43. Typically in any social setting, you ask the same questions no matter who you're talking to. What is your name? What do you do? Personally, I've always tried to avoid asking the "what do you do" question because I don't like being defined by a job. I am a Christian, I am a woman, I am a wife, friend, sister, daughter but I never liked being defined by my job, especially before my current one. Right now, I have probably the greatest job ever but I still don't like being defined by it.
Over the past 2 years, however, I have found that there are worse things to be defined as than a financial planner, a long-term care specialist, an attorney, or a project manager. The worst title of all is barren. Or infertile. Or the couple without kids. It sort of comes with the territory at a certain point, as does choosing a profession and being defined as such for the rest of your career. Sarah was defined as barren in the Bible, as was Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah, Elizabeth, and a woman whose name was not even mentioned, just the "wife of Monoah."
Tonight, I felt barren. Mind you, as I write this I do so with a light heart. By the grace of God, I'm in a very good place right now so walking through a room full of strangers feeling like my nametag said "Hi, my name is Barren" did not have nearly the effect on me that it would have months or even weeks ago. But I did feel like it was worth mentioning, if for no other reason than to: a) relish in the fact that all is still well with my soul; and b) remind myself to extend grace to others.
Every couple we met asked our names and then asked if we had any children. We only met one other couple that did not have children and I suspected it was for the same reason that we don't. The weirdest part was the looks that people gave us when we said that we did not have any. It was like we had each sprouted a second head right before their eyes and you could almost see the "wwwhhhhyyyy?" forming on their lips.
I mentioned it to Parker and his first reaction was that we didn't have to go back if I didn't want to. It really wasn't that, I have no problem going back. It was just odd that the social norm is so strict that once you get married, you have exactly X amount of years/months to procreate before people start to look at you funny. Parker thinks I bring it out in people because it is clear to anyone that talks to me for any significant amount of time that I love children. Maybe so. I wonder what kind of looks people get when they say that they don't have children because they don't want children.
My friend Kelly, pregnant with her first (and possibly only) child, said that she hates it how when people get pregnant and/or have children, all they talk about is children. I love kids and I love talking about them, probably not near as much as I will when I have my own. But surely there are other things to discuss amongst grown-ups, like good books, international affairs, religion and politics. There doesn't really seem to be a way to get around the not-too-heavy, not-too-light, what-defines-you small talk. I guess I would like to be defined as a child of God, practically imperfect in every way yet redeemed through perfect love. That's a much nicer title.
No comments:
Post a Comment