rshort1202

I am talking with Melissa when she somewhat casually mentions ‘my son’. I ask her what she means, and she tells me that I have a son that’s been living in some small town with another family. She tells me that she got pregnant her junior year of high school. She then revises it to her freshman year and then to ‘two years before high school’. I incredulously ask “you got pregnant in middle school?” She grins meekly but somewhat mischievously and says yes. This is news to me. She then lets on that she used to be pretty promiscuous, to put it lightly.

I have a child. This child is a newborn, though I’m not sure who birthed it. It almost seems as though it was not birthed, but rather simply came into existence. It almost seems that I ‘birthed’ it, by no literal means of the word, only that it’s existence came to be only through myself. Regardless of origins, I am holding it, with its small naked body and longer, black hair. There must have been some gestation period though, as I was assuming this child was a girl. But now it is being made known to me that the child is male. As I hold him, my reaction is a quiet yet jubilant “hell yes!” I am warm and content in the satisfaction of having a son. Later, I am apprehensive in the realization that I still have to work full work-weeks and slightly saddened and embarrassed that I still reside at home.