Evangelical Baby (Memoir, Part 5) 
Back at the farm my boyfriend was busy planting beans with his dad’s old 3020 John Deere. He got in contact with a group of Christian counselors, InterFaith Counseling, and set up an appointment. I didn’t have any money to pay for our couple’s therapy so he footed the bill. Oblivious to all this drama was our little girl, suspended in my womb, whirling and twirling as she slowly added cells and fat.
The first and only time I went with my boyfriend to talk to our InterFaith counseling team, a Catholic priest and a Lutheran therapist, they seemed sympathetic to our situation. But they told me I needed to tone it down a notch, because I was pressuring my boyfriend into marriage and he couldn’t see beyond my anxiety to discover whether or not he truly loved me.
I finally understood what Tina Turner was warbling about. I was starting to shed any allusions I had about love being the answer. Actually love was beginning to feel like a high school thing, a second-hand emotion. There were more important things to consider, more pertinent things, like how I was going to raise a child by myself?
