My Girl
Newborn
“Don’t worry Ry.” The brunette whispered encouragingly in my ear. “She’s nearly out. Not much longer now.”
For some reason, for the first time since meeting him, I didn’t need his encouragement to do something; I wanted it enough on my own. This baby girl, born out of the worst circumstances possible, was going to be my saviour, my lifeline. The night she was conceived I would never have imagined this would have happened. I didn’t even know it was possible.
“Ryan, we need to talk to you.” My mother started. She had been at the house for only an hour yet had still managed to have a shouting match with my father, who was close to his fifth beer of the evening. At six o’clock no less.
“I’m listening.” I had been packing my cases all day. I was finally going to be leaving this house. University was an exciting prospect. Then she turned up and I knew something wasn’t right. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be a talk trying to dissuade me from leaving.
“Since you’re not going to be living at home anymore we need to share something with you. You’re a very special boy Ryan. I understand that this is going to sound strange but it’s not and I need you to trust me.”
My mind was whirring trying to understand the hidden meaning to my mother’s words. I knew parents thought their children were special; children were a gift after all. But was that all my mother had driven across state to tell me? It couldn’t be.
“Son,” My dad slurred from the couch. “You have a womb.”
My reaction was the same as the few other people I’d told. Shock. But still, a man having a womb? Impossible. But it wasn’t. My mother had later explained that I was something called intersexual. Somehow, along with my father, she had been giving me hormones to hide this fact and, as I appeared male on the surface, I had never doubted it. I continued taking my medication all the time I was away. At home for three weeks and I forgot. And now I was pregnant. By a man.
Nervously, I walked into the strange house. My mother had never invited me to visit her new family and predictably I’d never felt the urge to see what she left us for. It was much bigger than the dump I used to share with my father. The building felt fresher as well, though that could be due to the bright new outlook on life I had. Taking his hand in mine I rang the bell. A teenage girl, about eighteen, answered the door.
“Can I help?” She was polite and unaware of the link I had with her family, which led me to wonder how much my mother had actually shared with her new family.
“I’m Ryan, or George, whichever.” I stammered. There was a squeeze on my hand from the man next to me. I looked at him and look a deep breath to gain confidence. “Just tell Sandra that her son is here.”
The girl gave me an odd look but returned into the house to find her mom all the same. She obviously decided that I was harmless because a few moments later a slightly older woman than I remember appeared at the door.
“Oh, Ryan, I’ve missed you dreadfully.” She exclaimed as she leant forward to give me a hug. Subconsciously, I protected my abdomen, though the motion was pointless; her hug barely reached me.
“I’ve missed you too.” I smiled at her. “But I need to talk to you. Privately.” I added on the end just to make it clear.
“Of course.” She led me into the house. It was much bigger than I’d thought. Her new husband had to be very rich for him to be able to afford this. She gestured towards the couch. “Your friend can wait here if you want. I’ll get Emily to grab him a glass of water or coffee or something.”
“No, he comes as well.” My nerves had gone despite the fact that his hand was no longer in mine. I turned to smile at him once again. I still couldn’t understand how he could stand by me in this.
My mother glanced at the pair of us and nodded, as if she was already aware of the connection between us. “Okay then. What is it Ryan?” Her tone wasn’t condescending as I had once found; it was caring and motherly.
“I’m pregnant.” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I should have led her into it gently instead of dropping it on her.
“But that means…” She seemed to struggle to say the last words.
“Yes mom, I’m gay.” Reaching my hand out to the boy stood next to me. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend. Brendon, meet my mom.”
Next to me, Brendon mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’ve already met your mom, doofus’, which caused me to laugh. My mother had a smile on her face that was screaming happiness at me.
“Oh I knew you two were together. Everyone did.” She said sweetly. “I saw you at George’s funeral,” she declared to Brendon. “Holding him close when he was afraid of the tears rolling down his face. I knew then. Congratulations to the pair of you!”
Before I could let myself get distracted by my mom’s joyful monologue, I had to get one last thing out. “The baby isn’t Brendon’s.”
My mother’s face collapsed as she looked at me. Promiscuity was not something she considered a done thing. “What?” She looked like she was about to collapse.
“But I’m not a slut ma.” Her eyes flicked up to me. “It wasn’t my choice. I was raped.”
Rape, in my eyes, cannot be an enjoyable experience for either party. The rapist is constantly fighting his victim so how can he possibly have any pleasure? The victim is being forced against his will (hence the fact it’s rape) so he can’t have pleasure. I do not care to remember my rape. But it was Brendon who sat next to me in the police station and the hospital. He was the first to know.
“We can do the abortion right now if that’s what you want.” The doctor stared over his clipboard at my bed.
“An abortion?” My heart skipped a beat and the machine attached to my arm picked up on it. “No, no, no. I can’t abort… I shouldn’t.” Then I remembered the beautiful, hazel-eyed man besides me. “Do you want me to get rid of this baby?”
He looked startled, like a deer in the headlights. On the one hand, if he said yes, I could understand entirely. Who wants to live with the child of person who raped your boyfriend? And having a baby is not the best way to celebrate a one-year anniversary either. On the other hand, if he said no, I would be giving up what could be my only chance of having a child of my own flesh and blood, sanctity of life meant something to him I thought. He looked me straight in the eye and held my hand.
“I want you to do what you think is right.”
My answer was clear. No abortion. That was most definitely the best decision of my life.
At one nineteen in the afternoon of the 23rd of April 2007, I heard my baby girl scream for the first time. Brendon was as excited as any other father to-be would be.
“Mr Ross.” The nurse said. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?”
I took the small child in my arms. She was so light, so tiny, so fragile. Brendon placed his arm around the newborn and me and I felt safe. Her name had already formed in my head and when I said it aloud it surprised very few people.
“Alice.”
For some reason, for the first time since meeting him, I didn’t need his encouragement to do something; I wanted it enough on my own. This baby girl, born out of the worst circumstances possible, was going to be my saviour, my lifeline. The night she was conceived I would never have imagined this would have happened. I didn’t even know it was possible.
“Ryan, we need to talk to you.” My mother started. She had been at the house for only an hour yet had still managed to have a shouting match with my father, who was close to his fifth beer of the evening. At six o’clock no less.
“I’m listening.” I had been packing my cases all day. I was finally going to be leaving this house. University was an exciting prospect. Then she turned up and I knew something wasn’t right. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be a talk trying to dissuade me from leaving.
“Since you’re not going to be living at home anymore we need to share something with you. You’re a very special boy Ryan. I understand that this is going to sound strange but it’s not and I need you to trust me.”
My mind was whirring trying to understand the hidden meaning to my mother’s words. I knew parents thought their children were special; children were a gift after all. But was that all my mother had driven across state to tell me? It couldn’t be.
“Son,” My dad slurred from the couch. “You have a womb.”
My reaction was the same as the few other people I’d told. Shock. But still, a man having a womb? Impossible. But it wasn’t. My mother had later explained that I was something called intersexual. Somehow, along with my father, she had been giving me hormones to hide this fact and, as I appeared male on the surface, I had never doubted it. I continued taking my medication all the time I was away. At home for three weeks and I forgot. And now I was pregnant. By a man.
Nervously, I walked into the strange house. My mother had never invited me to visit her new family and predictably I’d never felt the urge to see what she left us for. It was much bigger than the dump I used to share with my father. The building felt fresher as well, though that could be due to the bright new outlook on life I had. Taking his hand in mine I rang the bell. A teenage girl, about eighteen, answered the door.
“Can I help?” She was polite and unaware of the link I had with her family, which led me to wonder how much my mother had actually shared with her new family.
“I’m Ryan, or George, whichever.” I stammered. There was a squeeze on my hand from the man next to me. I looked at him and look a deep breath to gain confidence. “Just tell Sandra that her son is here.”
The girl gave me an odd look but returned into the house to find her mom all the same. She obviously decided that I was harmless because a few moments later a slightly older woman than I remember appeared at the door.
“Oh, Ryan, I’ve missed you dreadfully.” She exclaimed as she leant forward to give me a hug. Subconsciously, I protected my abdomen, though the motion was pointless; her hug barely reached me.
“I’ve missed you too.” I smiled at her. “But I need to talk to you. Privately.” I added on the end just to make it clear.
“Of course.” She led me into the house. It was much bigger than I’d thought. Her new husband had to be very rich for him to be able to afford this. She gestured towards the couch. “Your friend can wait here if you want. I’ll get Emily to grab him a glass of water or coffee or something.”
“No, he comes as well.” My nerves had gone despite the fact that his hand was no longer in mine. I turned to smile at him once again. I still couldn’t understand how he could stand by me in this.
My mother glanced at the pair of us and nodded, as if she was already aware of the connection between us. “Okay then. What is it Ryan?” Her tone wasn’t condescending as I had once found; it was caring and motherly.
“I’m pregnant.” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I should have led her into it gently instead of dropping it on her.
“But that means…” She seemed to struggle to say the last words.
“Yes mom, I’m gay.” Reaching my hand out to the boy stood next to me. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend. Brendon, meet my mom.”
Next to me, Brendon mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’ve already met your mom, doofus’, which caused me to laugh. My mother had a smile on her face that was screaming happiness at me.
“Oh I knew you two were together. Everyone did.” She said sweetly. “I saw you at George’s funeral,” she declared to Brendon. “Holding him close when he was afraid of the tears rolling down his face. I knew then. Congratulations to the pair of you!”
Before I could let myself get distracted by my mom’s joyful monologue, I had to get one last thing out. “The baby isn’t Brendon’s.”
My mother’s face collapsed as she looked at me. Promiscuity was not something she considered a done thing. “What?” She looked like she was about to collapse.
“But I’m not a slut ma.” Her eyes flicked up to me. “It wasn’t my choice. I was raped.”
Rape, in my eyes, cannot be an enjoyable experience for either party. The rapist is constantly fighting his victim so how can he possibly have any pleasure? The victim is being forced against his will (hence the fact it’s rape) so he can’t have pleasure. I do not care to remember my rape. But it was Brendon who sat next to me in the police station and the hospital. He was the first to know.
“We can do the abortion right now if that’s what you want.” The doctor stared over his clipboard at my bed.
“An abortion?” My heart skipped a beat and the machine attached to my arm picked up on it. “No, no, no. I can’t abort… I shouldn’t.” Then I remembered the beautiful, hazel-eyed man besides me. “Do you want me to get rid of this baby?”
He looked startled, like a deer in the headlights. On the one hand, if he said yes, I could understand entirely. Who wants to live with the child of person who raped your boyfriend? And having a baby is not the best way to celebrate a one-year anniversary either. On the other hand, if he said no, I would be giving up what could be my only chance of having a child of my own flesh and blood, sanctity of life meant something to him I thought. He looked me straight in the eye and held my hand.
“I want you to do what you think is right.”
My answer was clear. No abortion. That was most definitely the best decision of my life.
At one nineteen in the afternoon of the 23rd of April 2007, I heard my baby girl scream for the first time. Brendon was as excited as any other father to-be would be.
“Mr Ross.” The nurse said. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?”
I took the small child in my arms. She was so light, so tiny, so fragile. Brendon placed his arm around the newborn and me and I felt safe. Her name had already formed in my head and when I said it aloud it surprised very few people.
“Alice.”