Ana Robbins
She hated those bedsheets. Looking down at the septic, thin hospital sheet that was attempting to cover her bare legs, Barbara thought the nurses must add starch and wood shavings into the wash with them or something, with as much as they crinkled and cracked. The stiff, glaringly white sheet was barely wrinkled or bent out of its plane, even though her knees were trying in vain to create a tent shape. The slightest movement by those legs would inevitably send a loud crackle bouncing around the room, rendering sleep pointless. Their matte-like finish and sandpaper feel could shave off flesh if left on bare skin for too long. She wished she could shift her weight and get more settled against the thin pillows propping her halfway up, but she didn’t want to risk waking the baby in her arms. Looking down, she once again tried to fully take in the sight of her tiny, new human.
It was 8 pounds, 3 ounces, the nurses had told her. It was wrapped in a little yellow blanket, and she was holding it against her bare chest. The little face looked…like any other baby’s. The mother sighed. No, it wasn’t working. All she could see, still, was the huge shock of dark, dark hair on the top of the head, just like its father, plus his full lips and long lashes. A girl. This baby, her third, was a girl. She had not planned on this. No matter how hard she tried, she could not see herself in this baby. Oh, little “Jacob,” why did you have to come out so wrong? she thought. David’s gonna be over the moon, but…I never signed up for this. Barbara had refused to even contemplate girls’ names before the birth. She assured her husband David that she could only have boys, as her other two children by her previous husband attested to. Closing her eyes to reality, she desperately wished her old wives’ trick of eating bananas and red meat during pregnancy had worked this time.
After a moment, feeling the bundle in her arms shake a tiny bit, she opened her eyes to check on the situation. The little girl’s face was now pointed away from her mother, and her little arm had escaped its warm prison. It was now reaching out towards mom’s feet, twisting her entire upper body away from the open buffet being consistently offered. Barbara tried to lightly brush the girl’s cheek, the one furthest from her chest, in an attempt to coax her face towards a waiting, willing lunch. The baby didn’t even stir. Letting out a quiet sigh of resignation, Barb let her head tilt back towards the faux wood headboard. The girl had yet to suckle. The nurses had twice offered the services of a midwife, but both times she had refused. “Babies bond with whomever they suckle from,” she told them. “I won’t let my daughter become attached to some random woman she’ll never see again. Give her formula until she drinks from me.” They had also offered to let her use a breast pump, but she again refused, citing fear of the machine and that her skin easily bruised. But that hadn’t been the real reason. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, relinquishing her milk felt like letting the baby win. It got what it wanted, and took her out of the equation. She would not start this relationship like that.
When her boys had come into her life, they had been easy deliveries and even easier infants. They were quiet, didn’t demand much, ate when they should, and always wanted to be held. They had become very close very quickly, and the siblings became inseparable once the younger boy began to walk and talk. Mike, the older, kept watch over Paul, the younger. Barbara felt free to have her own life for many years due to those moments when Mike would step in and be dad to little Paul. Besides, boys didn’t take much work. She remembered growing up in a house with ten sisters and only one brother, and how easy that one boy had it. He had his own room, got to shower with Dad, and never had to play dolls with his sisters. But then, her boys had been born under far different circumstances to both her brother and this new baby. When Mike and Paul were conceived, they may not have been planned, but at least she had been under the impression that her and her first husband were in love and together forever. The boys would always have a provider, a roof, and at least one parent would usually have time for them. They looked like their father, and Barbara hadn’t minded that one bit. No one would ever doubt whose they were.
But fairy tales don’t tell you what happens when the princess grows up. The first marriage had lasted ten years, ending just before her 28th birthday. He had lost his job, started drinking, and was completely checked out from her needs. Luckily, her father had sent her enough money to get an apartment for her and the boys, plus paid for the first six months of rent. She hadn’t had to work since she was 17, so it was assumed that she just wouldn’t have the experience to get back into the field. She needed a solution. By the end of those six months, David had come into the picture, romanced her, and asked all three to move into his house. Crisis averted.
The years together passed slowly. The boys were hard on their new stepdad, but that wasn’t the problem. Barbara was bored. Unfulfilled. Out of love, but not out of need. She dreaded going back to a life of uncertainty, of not knowing when the next check was coming from. She wanted to leave, but didn’t want to face having nowhere to go. Thus, the new baby in her arms. Either this child would bring them back together and save the marriage from its doldrums, or it was a guaranteed child support check every month. An 18-year insurance policy, if you will. No more living off of family, no more unknowns.
Looking at the child in her arms, warm in its yellow blanket, her mind wandered to memories of her always-composed grandmother. Her grandmother had been very well-moneyed and proper, her aristocratic upbringing evident in every move. Her name was Lucille, and never went by anything less. No Lucy, no Lu, no silly nickname. Lucille’s mother and father were of the French aristocracy, and Barbara had never really understood their decision to move to America. They were royalty! They had the world at their feet! Why would they give up such a social position? Her grandmother had never allowed Barbara to call her “Lady Lucille,” no matter how many times she tried to sneak it in. I wonder if she just didn’t want to make her husband feel bad. Her grandfather was American by birth, a very ordinary man. She couldn’t recall what he did for a living, but she knew that her grandmother had always been the one with money. Sometimes he would say that he didn’t know why such a beautiful woman had married a man like him, and Barb absolutely agreed with that statement. She should never have married so below herself. She wondered if Lucille had married him out of pity.
While she had very few memories of her grandfather, every second spent with her grandmother was vivid in her mind. Lucille had always been a tiny lady, never over 100 pounds, ate like a bird. Her clothes were always the most classic of demure fashions, and Barbara couldn’t remember ever seeing a speck of dirt on her. She wore dainty white shoes every day, and they gleamed. Her home was a mansion, replete with polished cutlery and oil paintings of family. It was there that Barb learned how to properly set a banquet table for a five-course meal, how to walk with a book balanced on her head, how to curtsy, sit properly, bend down in a skirt, and walk in modest high heels. When she would spend afternoons at her grandmother’s house as a young girl, she realized how much she still needed to learn about being a high-class lady. None of her sisters ever acted with any grace or poise; they just wanted to joke around all the time, getting dirty out in the yard or on the school playground. The thought of being just like her peers and just one of the crowd when she grew up…there was no way she deserved to settle for that.
But now, she had to think about actually teaching someone else all of those things. How was she going to raise a girl? This made things…complicated. With her boys, all she had to do was model the ideal woman and wife, and teach them what to watch out for in a girl. Also, make sure they use condoms. But now, to make a girl into a lady? She didn’t want to do all that, but she knew that she would have to once David found out that he had spawned a female. He is going to be over the moon.
* * *
A small knock on the door startled her, but her roommate’s snores didn’t miss a beat. It was the only thing about the woman she had noticed at all. They had come to be in the recovery wing around the same time, with the other woman coming into the room an hour after Barbara. The door slowly squeaked open, and a nurse poked her head in. “Miss Jennifer?” she whispered, smiling. Barbara slowly shook her head, but the woman on the other bed swiftly ceased her sleep sounds. Lifting her head, she excitedly looked around. The nurse grinned, and came fully into the room, holding a small baby in a blue blanket. “He wanted his mommy for a little bit.” Jennifer sat up, grinning. “Hi, there, Max! Come here, I want to look at you!” The nurse crossed the room and laid the cooing burrito in the woman’s arms. “Oh, and I’m sorry, ma’am, do you prefer Jennifer or Jenny?” “Oh, Jenny, please, Jennifer sounds so stuffy and formal. Ew!” Jenny giggled, and Barbara felt her back stiffen against the sentiment. “It’s just not me. And I don’t want my kids to be too serious all the time, either. Isn’t that right, Max??” She leaned her face down so her and her baby’s noses touched. She grinned unconsciously from the silliness of the gesture. The nurse looked down at the boy, then asked quietly, “So, I noticed on your chart that you needed some extra care during your delivery. I’m very glad you are both alright, but I have some bad news about your insurance…” Jenny looked at the nurse with helpless eyes, cradling her son to her chest as his clenched fist brushed against her hospital gown. The nurse slowly reached out and pulled a long curtain out of the wall next to the bed, forming an opaque plastic partition between the two beds. Barbara heard the bedsprings creak as the worker sat back onto the bed, and the two began speaking in low voices. Barbara stared off into space, “trying” not to listen in or look down at the blank expression on her baby’s face. Of course, some details accidentally slipped through…
* * *
A few hours later, a familiar snoring woke her up. She hadn’t planned to fall asleep, but apparently the conversation had grown boring enough that it had lulled her into a nap. The nurse had left, and the partition was put back into the wall. She could see the woman sleeping on her back, with the baby boy lying on his back next to her. Barb noticed that Jenny was sleeping with one foot protruding from under her thin covers, as she usually did whenever napping or reading. That foot…She had never really stopped at get a good look at it. The skin on it was tanned and wrinkled, and calluses made the heel appear dirty and crusted over. The toe nails were unkempt and looked as if they haven’t seen a trim in at least a month. She wondered if they’d ever seen polish in their rough lives. The second-longest toe looked as if it was severely confused and leaned away from its large neighbor at the joint. Too much time in flip flops, she thought. Who could be so crass as to wear those abominations daily? Doesn’t she know that those have zero arch support? What kind of mother… Thoroughly disgusted, she started to avert her eyes, but before the movement was completed, her smallest toenail came into view. Chipped. Overgrown. Cuticle not pushed back, just left to rot. They let people like this have children? Earlier, she had heard the woman begging the nurse to let her sleep with the baby in her bed tonight. The nurse had said she would ask the doctor if he felt that would be safe. The nurse had not come back with a verdict yet, though it was already six in the evening. The little boy in Jenny’s bed stirred ever so slightly, one of his arms twitching in its newness. Barbara stared at the wrinkled face, the shiny mouth, the blue blanket underneath him. How he could sleep through his mother’s snoring, she had no clue. She envied how easy his infancy would probably be on miss “Jenny.” A deep-sleeping child is a diamond stuck in a sea of gravel, and should be highly treasured. As Barbara thought forward to the sleepless nights ahead of her, she burned internally. Her arms went numb, no longer feeling the 8 pounds 3 ounces of pressure she held. How would a screaming, fidgety, unloving baby save a marriage? It could only make it worse, guaranteeing her future of biological father payments. But, at what cost to the mother? A few hundred dollars every few weeks didn’t seem like enough for 18 years of hard, soul-sucking labor, taking care of a child who wants none of you. She felt utterly hopeless. She let her head flop to the side, pointing her eyes in the other woman’s direction. She locked onto the boy baby’s face, her brain going blank while sounds blurred all around her.
After what felt like only a few moments of staring, she noticed his mother begin to stir. Barbara quickly picked up her head and pretended she had been looking out the window. Jenny’s eyes popped open, and her hands reflexively pulsed to make sure she was still holding her baby.
She then glanced over towards the unmoving lump of blanket and child in Barbara’s arms. Smiling, she started talking a mile a minute, as if she had been awake for hours and had a gallon of coffee in her. “Aww, she’s so cute!You’re so lucky you had a girl. I heard the nurses talking about her and that amazing head of hair. This is my fourth boy. We were really hoping for a daughter this time, but hey, what can you do? Haha! Are you excited to have a girl? You certainly should be!” The woman beamed at her. Barbara gave a polite smile back while staring at the space of skin between Jenny’s eyes and began pondering its pores and folds. “Actually, I have two boys, and I absolutely love them. This is our first girl, and she’s beautiful, but…” Jenny’s brow started to scrunch into a worried pose. “What’s wrong?” Barb put on her best pained, sheepish, and meek look. “Well,… my husband really wanted a boy of his own, since both my kids are from a previous marriage. I’m worried sick that, once he gets back from Missouri, he’s going to have gotten his hopes so high for a boy that…that…” She let her voice trail off and gave a slight sniff. “I haven’t had the heart to break it to him over the phone yet.” The woman’s eyes were wide, and she looked ready to either scream or cry. “Girls are wonderful! They’re sweet and loyal, and you can put ribbons in their hair! My boys are great, but every home needs a little girl in it, to me!” Her eyes begin to well up as she looked down at Barbara’s tiny daughter. “She’s the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen. I envy you.”
Barb gave a slight smile as her mind continued racing, numbers flashing behind her vision. There was about $10,000 sitting in her husband’s account. While they were married, she had access to it, but once divorced, that well would be closed to her forever. If she brought him this fussy female child, she couldn’t see the two of them staying together, happily leading quiet, separate, complimentary lives. Ten thousand. Use it or lose it, so they say, she thought wryly. Never thought that saying would turn out to be so literal.
“How are you doing, by the way? I…couldn’t help but hear the nurse mention some troubles. Are you okay?” Jenny’s eyes dulled, her pupils seeming to dip down to focus on Barb’s chin. “Oh, that. Well, I’m fine now, but it was a difficult birth. There were multiple complications, and one of his shoulders got stuck. They had to…do some rearranging in order to keep us both whole. It’s almost like he didn’t want to be born to me! Heehee.” Jenny smiled a little, but Barbara gave her drawn a look of complete empathy and pity, as if the child had truly not wanted her. The smile faded, and the boy’s mother looked away. “We’re okay for now, but I don’t know what we’ll do when the hospital bills come in. Our insurance covered any normal costs that come with pre-natal and birth, but these unexpected procedures are a monkey wrench. The father isn’t in the picture, so I’ll be on my own for the bill. I know God provides, but…Oh, listen to me, boring you with my problems! I’m sorry, it’s probably just the hormones. I’m not normally like this, I promise.”
Barbara now knew exactly what to say. “Please, don’t feel bad about opening up. Sometimes God has unusual ways of taking care of us.” She tried to remember her Catholic school upbringing. “I mean, what are the odds, right? You and I, our lives would never have synced up if it weren’t for these children being born together. Maybe the Lord has placed us together so we can fix each others’ lives.” Jenny looked back over at Barb, tilting her head in confusion. “He has made a way for you to make sure your new baby gets everything she wants.” There was a long pause as the pronoun hung in the air.
“I…I have a boy…” Jenny’s eyes widened in sudden, unwanted understanding.
“We’ll be released at about the same time, our babies have the same delivery day. Our families never have to know. I’ll pay off all of your medical bills, I have enough of a nest-egg to cover” (the $8,000 the nurse said you owed) “whatever might come up. I’ll make sure you and the girl have the lives you deserve. And we’ll both have our dream.” The woman’s eyes did not blink. She simply stared at Barbara, speechless. “You…you would trade your girl…for a boy? MY boy?” There was a long pause between the two of them. They both suddenly took notice of the dust floating in front of each of their faces, illuminated by the quickly fading rays of sun falling in through the windows. Not wanting to lose control of the situation, Barbara spoke again.
“She hasn’t bonded to me. There would be no issues there. She hasn’t fed from me directly, doesn’t seem to want to be around me or cuddle, so you would have every part of her. You could truly be her mother. She would love you.”
The other woman’s features softened for a moment, then grew hard. “No. She doesn’t know you yet, but she will in her own time. Let her grow, and come to you. I had no idea what to do when I had my first child, and he taught me what he needed. That little girl is a part of you, not of me. God made it that way.” She turned over, her back to Barbara, clutching her little boy tightly to her chest. After about a minute, the woman finally said in a husky voice, “Do you really think I would trust my son with a woman who would sell her own daughter?” The room fell silent. Neither spoke again that evening.
* * *
Thumping. Running. A crash. More running. Jesus, it’s him. Before the thought had time to conclude, the door burst open as if blown to the side by dynamite. Her husband stood in the doorway. His black hair looked greasier than normal due to what she assumed was sweat coming from his scalp, judging by his intensely wet face, brow, and underarms. Makes a good impression on all these bleeding-heart hormonal mothers, I’m sure. She heard the woman next to her shift on her bed then darkly giggle, but Barbara refused to acknowledge her. She instead decided to stare at the ridge of David’s nose, silently taking in the rest of his appearance. He was wearing a wrinkly black button-up shirt, the same color and sheen of his hair. His matching black pants might have been on backward, she couldn’t tell. In a strained whisper, he asked “Well?? Are you finally gonna tell me? Is it a boy or a girl!” His eyes were wide in anticipation, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the sleeping face of the baby. After a pause, Barbara pasted on a smile, and proudly announced, “It’s a girl. Her name is Jennifer.”