The Baby

                                              The Baby

         Nothing had prepared her for the ripping, tearing pain of childbirth. Not the months of waddling like an overstuffed Christmas goose, or the well meaning, but harassed staff at the free clinic on 15th Street, or her so-called friends at school, and certainly not that no-good bastard, Michael, who had ditched her the moment she informed him of her period being two months late.
         Everyone had tried to coax her into aborting the pregnancy, citing a long list of ills that would befall her and the child if she brought it into the world at this particular time and place. The school counselor had given her Planned Parenthood brochures and told her of an assortment of doctors and clinics that would take care of the problem quickly and painlessly. Mrs. Watson, from the apartment across the hall, had told her, “Girl, you gotta stay in school and git an education. ‘Sides, you’re way too young to have a baby. How you gonna feed it?” Even her mother, in one of her more lucid moments, had cried sloppy tears and made overly sincere promises to clean up her own act “if only you don’t ruin your life like I did.”  As if it were possible to undo the last ten years of a descending spiral into full blown alcoholism just like that. Whatever! That statement, more than anything else, was what made up her mind to carry the child to term.
         Instinctively she knew she was capable of being a mother, and doing it well, without the comfort of a bottle of vodka to sustain her against the gritty struggles of single parenthood.  So, she had enrolled in a prenatal care program at the free clinic, devoured books from the library on child-care, and made a real effort to eat a more healthy diet by insisting she do the grocery shopping with the meager SSI check her mother received on a monthly basis. Even her grades had improved due to the new discipline infused in her life. Truth be told, she was happier during that time than ever before. She would show them!
         The life inside her had grown and she gradually became aware of it as a little person, a part of her, yet separate. As her tummy swelled, a similar bubble of powerful emotions had developed within her chest. She would talk to the child late at night when she was unable to sleep, a quiet, inward conversation without words. She spoke to it of her longing for a real family with a Dad, and brothers and sisters; a real, close, loving family. She had related her hopes and dreams of escaping the confinement of poverty and violence of the inner city and living in the suburbs, with a nice house, fresh air and sunshine. She made many promises to the child of loving and caring for it always. At times her feelings for the child would become so intense they constricted her lungs and literally took her breathe away. With this also grew a fierce protectiveness and the knowledge that she would lay down her own life to protect the child if necessary.
         Now, lying alone on a hard, narrow cot at the clinic, covered in a cold, greasy sweat, she wasn’t so sure. She was scared, lonely, and in severe pain. The contractions were coming faster and harder, causing her to grit her teeth and cry out. She had been feeling twinges for about a week as her uterus had begun to prepare for its ordeal. The contractions began in earnest earlier that afternoon and she had checked herself into the clinic, along with the pitifully few baby clothes she had been able to accumulate. The staff had assigned her to a bed on the ward and the tall Latina doctor with the pretty eyes had briefly examined her. She informed her it would be a while before the baby was actually born. “Try to rest and get some sleep if you can,” she had said reassuringly, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
                   
         Pain had assumed its own identity, intimate as a lover, rigid, demanding, sharp, and penetrating. Its hot, nauseous breathe on her face, she twisted and writhed to escape its grasp as it clawed at her with blunt talons that ripped and tore at her flesh. It held her tightly in a relentless embrace as it swept her down dark, steamy corridors of exquisite suffering. Within its chambers a dim, blood-red light swirled creating sinister shadows concealing unspeakable agony. It danced la danse macabre with her to a roaring orchestra of thundering kettle drums, screaming violins, and blaring trumpets, laughingly promising her culmination and relief, yet withdrawing it again and again. As hour after grinding hour of torment went on the personalities of pain and child gradually began to merge into a single entity, a monstrous, alien creature intent on destroying her.
         Suddenly, a surge of hot amniotic fluid and watery blood gushed from her body onto the cot and dripped to the floor. Now she knew she was fighting for her life. Just as she had earlier embraced and loved the child, now she was determined to expel it from her with a vengeance. She pushed at it with all her waning strength, heaving, grunting; her face a rictus of resolute determination.
         Every disappointment, every frustration, every hurt she had ever experienced now became the focal point of her willpower to once and for all win over this savagery being wreaked upon her. She was no longer timid; she was no longer fearful; she was no longer the victim. Now she was angry. Within her veins flowed the blood of distant warrior tribes, whose fierce battle cry, echoing down through the centuries, struck a chord deep within her psyche and called forth the power of the mighty Amazon.
         
         Inch by agonizing inch, the baby’s large head moved along the birth canal toward the bright light of new life. The Latina doctor, gently manipulating its head with forceps, aided in the last, difficult maneuver around the pubic bone. The baby slithered into the bright, sterile light of the delivery room and into the hands of the waiting nurse. It was a large, healthy boy, and he was not happy. He was cold and the brightness hurt his eyes. As the nurse suctioned the mucus from his mouth and nose, he cried out in protest against the indignities being inflicted upon him. He was then wrapped in a soft blanket and placed on his mother’s breast. His cries stilled as he recognized her warm smell, heard the familiar beating of her heart and felt her loving arms around him. He slept, and knew that all was well in his world.




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