Jumping to Conclusions

After one year of marriage, my husband Harry and I spent the summer awaiting the birth of our first child. He drove dump trucks to earn extra money before we had to return to college. Our son was now seven-days-old and sleeping in his crib. Life just seemed so good.

Humming to myself I decided to start my chores with the washing. I separated the dirty clothes and diapers into appropriate piles and started washing the diapers. Next, I went through all the pockets of the other clothes. I had paid the price of washing paper in pockets too many times to omit this step.

I picked up the last pair of Harry’s work pants and found a folded piece of paper with a phone number on it. I didn’t recognize the phone number. My beautiful day was dashed on the ragged rocks of life. I couldn’t believe I just uncovered my husband’s unfaithfulness! That sorry son-of-a-gun! Who did he think he was?

I was devastated. I called my mother to come take care of baby Paul. I cried throughout the day and buried myself under a mound of covers in my bed.

Returning home that afternoon, my mother must have warned him that I was going through some kind of crisis. He yawned the door open and said, “Are you all right, Honey?”

“Don’t you Honey me, you miserable creep!”

“What?" He saw my bloated face. "Geez, are you sick?"

“Sick? You, Dear Husband, are the sick one!” Spit flew from my mouth. I threw the tattletale paper across the room. “Do you think I am stupid?”

Shaking his head in confusion, he walked to pick up the paper from the floor where it had landed. He opened it and read it. He looked back up at me and shrugged.

“Don’t you shrug your shoulders at me! I know what you have been up to! When did you think you would tell me about your girlfriend? Before or after Paul started school?”

Then, he smiled. “Let’s go call this number.”

"No, I'm hornet mad! I wouldn't do anything for you if you were in flames!

"Then do it for Paul!"

I shuffled behind him to the telephone. He handed me the phone. “Now, dial that number, please."

I dialed and listened as it rang several times. A woman’s voice answered. “St. Vincent’s Infirmary. This is the labor and delivery suite. May I help you?”

I would never get all the egg scraped off my face! While I was in labor, Harry called to check on me from pay phones all over town. He wanted to be sure to make it to the hospital on time. In those days fathers were not allowed to see the baby or their wives until after the delivery. Therefore, he had decided to go ahead and rack up as many hours as possible that day.

I began to cry harder.

“Why are you crying now? I just don’t understand you or women in general.”

“But, I’m so-o-o hap-p-py,” I hiccuped throwing my arms around his neck. (512)