Fertility

There is something in the water in the BYU-Hawaii LDS 14^th ward. And it might be sperm.

Gross. Pretending I didn’t say that, let me start over by announcing that I belong to the most hazardously fertile ward in the world. We’re talking more than all the married wards in Provo, Utah or Rexberg, Idaho COMBINED.

Each week, a list is passed around for more women to sign up announcing their due date. Every other week, another stroller becomes the new caboose of a long train of baby carriages stretching all the way down the hall. Every couple of weeks, another wife suddenly develops a belly growth, as though hiding (not well) a large watermelon under her shirt.

It’s as though there’s a secret fertility club, and to become a member you have to get pregnant, and after you get pregnant you must bear heartfelt testimony to everyone about the newness and exuberance one feels when she has on her belly a large watermelon growth.

Certainly this is a wonderful thing. I hope to grow a watermelon of my own one day... one distant, distant day long after forfeiting my chance of joining the super secret not-so-exclusive 14^th ward fertility club.

Last Fast Sunday, as is custom, a great many members of the club, including fruitful new daddies, stood up to extol the virtues of parenthood and encourage childless newlyweds (like we Bagleys) to try making watermelon Bagley bellies. I was deeply engrossed in a doodle of a giant ice cream cone when Kendon got my attention and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “I want one,” he mouthed. “Ice cream? Me too,” I said, my tummy growling in agreement. “No, a baby,” he replied, his eyes so puppy-doggy now I could have scratched his ears. “We’ll get one. Someday,” I assured him, patting his leg as I carefully made criss-cross waffle cone lines on my program. He poked me again. “No. Now.”

I looked around me, from the babies in bellies to the babies on bouncing mama laps to the newly-liberated aisle-walking babies, then back to Kendon and thought, Heaven help us, they’ve indoctrinated him. I swallowed hard and tried to look sympathetic.

Then he burst out laughing. Kendon’s laugh can sometimes exceed baby scream decibels. As half a dozen disapproving baby bellies turned and looked at us, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to daydream about puppies.