Baked Beans and a Baby
Written by Sarah DeArment
In my last post, I wrote about my intriguing experience with choose-your-own-adventure novels. I’m still fascinated, and we are still choosing our own adventure (in the book, and in life). I received a lot of positive feedback from that post (thank you), and some private messages encouraging me to “choose your own adventure part two.” I’ll be honest; I’ve been thinking about it all week, and struggling a bit to pick up where I left off. So tonight, I decided to start thinking about my own adventure, and the choices that have made marriage such an adventure so far. I’ve been feeling inspired to start sharing a bit about our newlywed-pregnancy journey. I mean, could there be a bigger adventure? So tonight, I’ll entertain you with the plot twist and the bend in the road that led to baked beans, and a baby.
When Darren and I had been married for ten days, I ate a can of baked beans. We were still on our honeymoon. It was our last night in our tree house in Vermont, and we wanted to have a campfire, s’mores, and one last night in our tree house-deck cedar hot tub (yes, this was real, and yes, this was one of the best things of my life). Everything was perfect. Except, well… it rained. And the firewood was damp. So, being the domestic newlywed that I was (not), I cooked our hot dogs and hamburgers indoors, and cracked open the can of baked beans that I bought at the local store – solely for my new husband.
If you know me well, you know that I hate baked beans. Hate here means more than dislike. Hate means unable-to-even-smell-these-little-nuggets. I just don’t do baked beans. Never have. So the moment of truth came when it was time to open the for-my-husband baked beans. I braced myself, prepared not to inhale, and imagined Darren eating them all, never having to look at them again. “I’m doing this for him,” I said aloud. Here’s what actually happened: I braced myself, prepared not to inhale, inhaled… and ate the entire can of baked beans.
Darren had been outside with a tomahawk, because what else do you pack in your suitcase for your honeymoon, attempting to salvage some firewood. He was really trying to embrace his inner lumberjack while soaking up every last minute of the Northeastern Kingdom of Vermont. The spring-loaded screen door to the tree house slammed with a bang, briefly interrupting my solo dance party, and my last few morsels of canned baked beans. “Are you… okay?” I married a man who knew all about my distaste for baked beans. “I’m pregnant,” I responded. “I mean, I think.” At this point, my husband opened a beer.
When Darren and I prepared for marriage, we learned that our commitment within marriage is to be one that is free, total, faithful, and fruitful. Without going in to too much detail, at least, for now, we took this pretty seriously. After all, commitments aren’t usually things you can go 75% of the way in on. And so, long story short, we knew early into our engagement that our marriage would be open to life, and prayed it would be fruitful.
When we first made this decision, sure, I had a bit of apprehension. In fact, one of my first sarcastic comments to Darren might have been “just you wait, we’ll have a honeymoon baby!”
Fast-forward to the night of the baked beans.
Fast-forward to cruising down a highway in New York two days later, the day I ate the whole bag – THE WHOLE BAG – of salt and vinegar potato chips. Darren tried to intervene. He failed.
Fast-forward to the night we got back to our temporary home, my husband’s tiny apartment, and he left for work the next morning, and I sobbed.
Fast forward to buying a box of two pregnancy tests at Wal-Mart a few nights later and worrying so much that we might run into someone we knew. I hid the tests under a box of pasta in the basket, and went to the cash register with the most disinterested-looking cashier.
Fast forward to waking up Sunday morning, July 23rd, knowing that “the plan” was to take a test first thing that morning.
“No! I can’t do it. Let’s go to church first.”
This is where our adventure began.
Read the next part of the adventure at sarahdearment.wordpress.com.
Hi, and thank you so much for reading! I’m Sarah and I’m a Catholic newlywed and mom-to-be living each day by Grace in Pennsylvania. I started writing as a way to share my love for Christ and His Church and the Sacrament of Marriage. I love the outdoors, crocheting, crepes and Nutella, and moose. Finally, my favorite Brick House in the City product is the maternity tee, because well, does it get any better than those Saint ladies?! You can find my blog at sarahdearment.wordpress.com.