The Story of a Girl Who Wanted a Baby

The girl wanted a baby more than she wanted a man. When other girls were writing their name with some guy’s last name all over their notebooks, the girl was writing lists of names she might bestow on her daughter one day. It did not occur to her that she would give birth to anything but a girl.  

Eventually, there was a man. The girl, who thought no man would ever want her because she was not enough of anything, married the man because the man wanted her.   It’s true. The man did want the girl on some days. He especially wanted her at night and in the wee hours of the morning, whether she wanted him or not. Usually she did not.

The girl followed the man because she had to. She shut up because the man said to. She stayed out of his way except when she couldn’t. And one day, the girl got pregnant. It is not surprising, given how much the man wanted her.  The girl was happy then. Sometimes the man seemed glad, except when he felt tied down and then he wasn’t. (Glad, that is.)

The girl took care of that baby, the one she hoped and prayed would be a girl. There were no sonograms, no decisions to be made about knowing vs. not knowing. The girl would have to wait. While she was waiting, she took care of that baby. The girl ate more food than she ever ate because the baby needed to eat. She wouldn’t take pills for the headaches she always had. The baby came first. Even though the man thought he should come first.

There was a fight about the doctor. The girl insisted that she would have the baby in the city, with the doctor who had been her doctor since high school. The man insisted that the city doctor cost too much money and said shouted, “You will have the baby here in the country. The doctor here is good enough.”  The girl shouted back, “I will save my own money and pay for the doctor I want.” The girl won.

One day, the girl fell on some ice and everybody thought the baby might come early. But the girl went to her mother’s and stayed on the couch. Two weeks passed and the baby finally settled down to wait a while longer. The girl went home to the man, and for a while, the baby protected the girl from the man. Maybe you know what I mean.

Finally one night just when the man and the girl were ready to go to sleep, the baby signaled it was time. It was late and snowing and the hospital was forty miles away in the city. The girl was afraid the man would be mad about the snow, because she had defied him. But he was quiet and didn’t make the girl feel bad or sad as they drove through the weather.

A man at the hospital asked the girl what she last had to eat. She screwed up her face and said, “popcorn.” She had heard that women sometimes throw up during labor and she was mad at herself for not thinking ahead better than that. She didn’t think she wanted to vomit popcorn. The pains were speeding up. The man disappeared because this all was too much for him. The girl did not want to drug her baby so she would not take anything they offered for the pain. The voice next to her, the voice of a friend who rose from her own bed to be with the girl, urged her to relax, to breathe deeply, to count and to not think about the lightning bolt searing her body. The girl did not scream. She did not cry. (She also did not vomit popcorn.) She listened to the voice, she breathed deeply, and she struggled to resist pushing even though she wanted to do that more than anything in the world (except perhaps have a coke).

A man in a white jacket knelt down beside her with a needle. “What’s that?” she demanded, suspicious because she had said, “No drugs.” “We have to give you something because your blood pressure is too high.” The friend nodded, “You must,” she said.” And so the girl let him have her arm. More time passed, and finally the girl pleaded, “I have to push, I cannot wait any longer.”

The girl was wheeled into the delivery room full of lights and people and metal. The calm voice was still next to her, and she pushed because they said she could. Someone went to get the man to see if he wanted to come in. Someone else said, “He doesn’t want to.” The girl did not care. She did not want him to ruin the moment. Her friend was next to her and soon her baby would be as well.

The girl had her girl. It was 4:48 a.m. January 11, 1976. The girl was happy. She gave the baby the most beautiful name from her long-ago list. And she vowed to take care of that baby no matter what the man said or wanted. And she did.

Happy birthday, Julie Katharine. You are forever my jewel.

P.S. We escaped the man.