The vicar, rather than being a stuffy, self-opinionated old man, was a woman in her thirties who seemed friendly and approachable. The service appeared to be tailored for families, and the children sat quietly in the long wooden pews, with the exception of Teddy, who wandered about in the aisle without attracting any signs of disapproval from the rest of the congregation. Grant, who had been sitting for a while with his son on his lap, whispered that Teddy always did this. If we tried to stop him he would scream, shout, and throw himself on the floor. I had yet to witness that side of our child’s behavior, although having seen one of his nightmares I had a good idea what one of Teddy’s tantrums might be like. At one point in the service the congregation was given the opportunity to pray quietly, and I scuffled down onto the hard kneeler, squeezed my eyes closed, and let my thoughts wander. In that moment of quiet contemplation, I found myself wondering if the omnipotent forces of the universe thought I was doing a good job of being Lauren.
