So, yesterday was not so great. When we got to church (DH insisting on sitting in the second row), I looked over to thr front row across from us and saw a line of well-dressed people and a dressed-up baby. I madly flipped through the bulletin to confirm my suspicion. Yup. Baby baptism planned in the middle of service. I hissed at DH, "There is a baptism." He looked at me with his usual confused expression, not understanding the sheer torture of these events for me.
All I could think about was the baptismal gown (sewn by my great-grandfather's wife so many years ago) that is hanging in THAT room. You know the room, the one that is supposed to be a nursery, but now just sits empty, except for the rocking chair that belonged to DH's grandmother. The rocking chair I am supposed to be rocking my babies in.
I had such a hard time keeping it together. I could feel the tears slipping down and I was thanking God silently that I have let my hair grow so it could cover my face. The baptism was thankfully as short as most Protestant ones can be. But I keep thinking to myself that should be us. I kept my head down and read my bulletin through the process. But, of course, our pastor insisted on carrying that baby down the aisle row by row for every person to see. I could hear all of the whispers of "oh, how cute he is." I just did my best to avert my gaze.
I know I am PMSing (and hence dying for some chocolate) and on the verge of weepy. But just when I think I am in a place where I can fake it through things like this, I am blindsided by the hurt that I can't seem to keep under control.
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2 comments:
That used to happen to me all the time at our old church. There were at least a couple a month. Most of them seemed to happen at the late service, so we started going to the early service.
I'm sorry.
I've been lurking around here for about a month now and wanted to thank you for reviewing 'Unsung Lullabies'. I've just started reading it and found it so helpful in validating some of the things I've been feeling.
I had a similar experience on Easter to the one you've just written about. Not only did we have a baptism, but the priest also had a newly born grandson, so worked that into the sermon as well. He described in great detail the growing bump and scans and labour of his daughter-in-law and their delight at the birth. It was all I could do to keep back the tears. If I had been in the back of the church I would have walked out. It's strange, isn't it, how sometimes you're ok and then other times the pain just overwhelms you?
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