The Gorilla and the Duck (A story about communication in marriage)

(A couple of months ago...)

I am in the middle of a discussion with my husband, and I know it’s about to become heated. I bite my tongue. Ask questions gently, with an even, non-accusatory tone. I’m standing in the hallway at the top of the stairs, 7 months pregnant. And that’s my first problem, I just look crazy.

My husband, exhausted from no sleep due to my tossing and turning and 3 bathroom breaks per night, is next to me. I’m asking where he’s decided to install the new attic ladder.

“So if we install the new attic ladder here, the stairs will come down in a way that will make it hard for anyone to walk on the side of it," I say. "If you have Christmas boxes to put up, you’ll have to come from back here.” I motion to the *obviously* inconvenient area (DUH). And that’s just one of the many reasons I’m convinced it won’t work, so I calmly start to make my case.

You see, baby #2 is coming. We must get frantic and make yuppie preparations. First of all, we have to find a place to store all our stuff. Second, we must make it look like we don’t have any stuff, hence creating a larger attic door opening. I mean, we’re wannabe eco-friendly people and minimalists, for goodness sakes (Oooh look! An iPhone compatible baby monitor, and crib sheets designed by this cool girl on Etsy!)

And as anyone with children knows, a woman’s version of nesting is very different than a man’s version of nesting (husband sheet rocking garage at this very second, because you know, IT’S FOR THE BABY.)

“Hmm. So if the ladder goes down the stairs and lands on that platform, no one can get by when the ladder is down?” I ask. He’s starting to get frustrated but trying not to show it. He has the unspoken, “Why can’t you just trust me instead of poke holes in my plan?” look on his face. He becomes more animated.

He motions up towards the ceiling to explain his plan for how the stairs will go down. He’s talking a bit louder. His big, strong arms, the muscular baseball arms I love, are waving up and down, pointing in random places, trying to get his point across.

I have a fleeting thought about how even though we have been married for over 10 years, I am always re-noticing how much blonde arm hair he has. I always thought I’d marry a man with dark skin and dark hair. Here I am, brown hair and brown eyes, with this blonde, freckled guy and our blonde haired, blue eyed first son. His arms are flying in front of my face, pointing up to the ceiling, and he’s using his hands to mimic measurements in the air.

I think about logistics, I begin to question more. I'm frustrated that he hasn't learned how to communicate better after all these years (e.g. "my way"). At this point, I’m heated, and even starting to even annoy myself, but I press on, because what’s important to me right now is that I *really do* want to be able to safely get into the attic without dangling over a stairway from now and forever more, so long as we both shall live in this house.

He continues. I have no idea what he's trying to say.

I had taken my son to the zoo recently, and all I could envision in this moment was how oddly similar my husband is to a large, hairy gorilla, much like the one I saw, with a duck quacking at it’s feet who kept on quacking, waddling around the gorilla’s feet, and no matter what noises the gorilla made, or how many times he used his arms to motion to the duck to get lost, it would Not. Go. Away. Eventually the duck annoyed the gorilla so much, the gorilla got up and moved.


All I begin to hear is, “Grough haaaa grr rough rough eee hooo, up there, like that.”
I start to laugh. That doesn’t go over well. His fair, freckled face is getting red. His beautiful long arms move faster, making motions that don’t resemble an attic ladder.

“Oh my god!” I think to myself. I have an internal realization: I am the duck.

My poor husband is still here trying to explain this to me. “Don’t you see what I mean?” he asks. I’m brought back in.

In our family, it’s not usually over until the duck cries, and the gorilla pats the duck on the head and gives her a hug. I decide at this moment to lean on my roots, and do what the Southern women do: Stroke his ego, and let it go.

I kissed him and said, “Thanks for explaining it to me. Sounds great, honey.” I told him what a good job he’d done figuring it all out. I gave him a huge hug. 

I slowly waddled back to whatever it was I thought I needed to do next.

Due to the fact that our house is 108 years old and the joists are only 16” apart, it ended up that we could not put an attic door in that location, anyway.

The wild forest is a calm and happy place. And since then, I have only quacked about the garage once.