“How did this ever happen?!” she wails into her hands, flowing blonde hair covering her mess of a face, melting into the mascara stains already running down her cheeks.
Alyssa’s cries muffle the labored breathing sounds, and her chest feels heavier and heavier by the moment. Air passage becomes more stifled and for the second time in her life, she can visibly feel every intimate beat of her heart, thrashing in its cage of a chest cavity.
The only other time she felt like this was when she met her husband, but back then her hands began to sweat and words escaped her. That’s what true love feels like.
But not this. This is something entirely different.
Madison strokes the back of her neck, puts his arms in a warm embrace gently around her and kisses the top of her damp forehead before resting his cheek against the back of her neck.
“Shhh, baby. Everything’s going to be fine,” he tries to tell her in a soothing voice. “We’ve been married for ten years; this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“But why now? I’m not ready to be a mother and you’re certainly not ready for fatherhood, I mean look how hard your job’s getting right now.”
“I know sweetheart. We’ll take care of this, like thousands of other people have already done.”
Those words instantly set fire in her eyes.
“Take care of this!?” she shrieks. “What, like it’s some illegitimate child and we’re a poor struggling family on welfare that can’t afford a baby?! No Madison. We’re going to have it. And we’re going to do the best we can, because that’s what good, Christian families do. They don’t just mutilate their bodies all because of some poorly thought out decision.”
He pulls his hand away from her.
“Well Lys, we don’t have to decide anything now.” He looks off into the horizon, out of the kitchen window and for the first time in fifteen minutes puts his cup of tepid coffee up to his lips and checks his watch before making the way towards the door to grab his jacket.
“I have to go to work,” he announces rather flatly, putting one arm through the jacket hole, inching closer to his wife and kissing her on the forehead. “Be strong, love. We’ll discuss our options tonight.”
And the door shuts, closing behind his feeble, “I love you,” with it.
She angrily tosses the pregnancy test into the garbage can, and knocks her head down onto the kitchen table, tears flowing out more steadily than before.
“God, please make me strong,” Alyssa begins praying. “Help me be the best mother I can to this child. I don’t know what I’m doing, Father. I don’t know what I am going to do,” her voice gets softer.
Instead of continuing to look for answers, she takes her husband’s promise that they will discuss everything at a later date and time, and follows suit by getting ready for a rousing day at work. When she signed on to be a professor of English literature at Cal, she only considered teaching other peoples’ children. Never once did it cross her mind that one day she too would have a child of her own on which she could bestow her same ideals of Romanticism and the in-your-face liberal policies and hedonist point of view of the Beat Poetry Generation.
However, the situation grew beyond their comprehension and maturity and both husband and wife eluded the topic for nearly four days. Alyssa completely buried herself into her newest research project comparing French existentialist literature to older classic works from the 19th century, hoping to publish the next biggest breakthrough in her field of study, while Madison continued to listen to his persistence tapes in hopes of landing the Goldman case for the benefit his architectural firm – and perhaps a shot at finally making partner. They still have unfinished goals on the horizon and having a child never once fit into any of these lofty expectations. Alyssa is only four months shy of her 30th birthday and still has yet to cement herself as a literary scholar. She would not let this baby get in the way of that.
Some women grow up with idealistic visions in their heads of motherhood, generally the type of women who experience mothering instincts their whole lives. Instead, Alyssa was taught by her parents that she had to be the best at everything. The best in her high school sports teams, the best (i.e. top three percent) among her graduating class at UCLA, and the best and most supportive wife to her husband. Being the best requires a lot of self-involved feelings and doesn’t leave much room for anyone else. Yes, she was taught to succeed alongside her husband in order to compliment his will and drive. And for a while they’d been doing pretty well. They were the first among their circle of friends to become millionaires, and after each had done impeccably well in their personal fields, Madison and Alyssa’s combined net worth soon skyrocketed into the multi-millions.
This type of desire and drive never once left her feeling empty, for when she came home, she knew it was to a wonderful man who cared about their success as much as she did. She knew they were a team and could tackle anything. Because she never felt like anything was missing, the desire for a child never seemed to come to either one.
But now that the prospect was imminent, she still couldn’t force the feeling.
Alyssa’s cries muffle the labored breathing sounds, and her chest feels heavier and heavier by the moment. Air passage becomes more stifled and for the second time in her life, she can visibly feel every intimate beat of her heart, thrashing in its cage of a chest cavity.
The only other time she felt like this was when she met her husband, but back then her hands began to sweat and words escaped her. That’s what true love feels like.
But not this. This is something entirely different.
Madison strokes the back of her neck, puts his arms in a warm embrace gently around her and kisses the top of her damp forehead before resting his cheek against the back of her neck.
“Shhh, baby. Everything’s going to be fine,” he tries to tell her in a soothing voice. “We’ve been married for ten years; this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“But why now? I’m not ready to be a mother and you’re certainly not ready for fatherhood, I mean look how hard your job’s getting right now.”
“I know sweetheart. We’ll take care of this, like thousands of other people have already done.”
Those words instantly set fire in her eyes.
“Take care of this!?” she shrieks. “What, like it’s some illegitimate child and we’re a poor struggling family on welfare that can’t afford a baby?! No Madison. We’re going to have it. And we’re going to do the best we can, because that’s what good, Christian families do. They don’t just mutilate their bodies all because of some poorly thought out decision.”
He pulls his hand away from her.
“Well Lys, we don’t have to decide anything now.” He looks off into the horizon, out of the kitchen window and for the first time in fifteen minutes puts his cup of tepid coffee up to his lips and checks his watch before making the way towards the door to grab his jacket.
“I have to go to work,” he announces rather flatly, putting one arm through the jacket hole, inching closer to his wife and kissing her on the forehead. “Be strong, love. We’ll discuss our options tonight.”
And the door shuts, closing behind his feeble, “I love you,” with it.
She angrily tosses the pregnancy test into the garbage can, and knocks her head down onto the kitchen table, tears flowing out more steadily than before.
“God, please make me strong,” Alyssa begins praying. “Help me be the best mother I can to this child. I don’t know what I’m doing, Father. I don’t know what I am going to do,” her voice gets softer.
Instead of continuing to look for answers, she takes her husband’s promise that they will discuss everything at a later date and time, and follows suit by getting ready for a rousing day at work. When she signed on to be a professor of English literature at Cal, she only considered teaching other peoples’ children. Never once did it cross her mind that one day she too would have a child of her own on which she could bestow her same ideals of Romanticism and the in-your-face liberal policies and hedonist point of view of the Beat Poetry Generation.
However, the situation grew beyond their comprehension and maturity and both husband and wife eluded the topic for nearly four days. Alyssa completely buried herself into her newest research project comparing French existentialist literature to older classic works from the 19th century, hoping to publish the next biggest breakthrough in her field of study, while Madison continued to listen to his persistence tapes in hopes of landing the Goldman case for the benefit his architectural firm – and perhaps a shot at finally making partner. They still have unfinished goals on the horizon and having a child never once fit into any of these lofty expectations. Alyssa is only four months shy of her 30th birthday and still has yet to cement herself as a literary scholar. She would not let this baby get in the way of that.
Some women grow up with idealistic visions in their heads of motherhood, generally the type of women who experience mothering instincts their whole lives. Instead, Alyssa was taught by her parents that she had to be the best at everything. The best in her high school sports teams, the best (i.e. top three percent) among her graduating class at UCLA, and the best and most supportive wife to her husband. Being the best requires a lot of self-involved feelings and doesn’t leave much room for anyone else. Yes, she was taught to succeed alongside her husband in order to compliment his will and drive. And for a while they’d been doing pretty well. They were the first among their circle of friends to become millionaires, and after each had done impeccably well in their personal fields, Madison and Alyssa’s combined net worth soon skyrocketed into the multi-millions.
This type of desire and drive never once left her feeling empty, for when she came home, she knew it was to a wonderful man who cared about their success as much as she did. She knew they were a team and could tackle anything. Because she never felt like anything was missing, the desire for a child never seemed to come to either one.
But now that the prospect was imminent, she still couldn’t force the feeling.
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