Baby on the mind
The other day my mother asked me to take the baby off of her. She said it was laying on her ribs. Her portable EKG machine was in her smock pocket where it lives and I thought that the weight of that was what she was referring to as a baby. But it was sort of weird that she said baby. Then the other day she told me that she continues to hear a baby crying in the next room. So I said to her, I hope this baby who keeps making an appearance to you makes one to me as well and she just looked at me with a puzzled look.
In the realm of babies, it ain’t easy. You can get weapons of mass destruction, you can get medical marijuana, you can possibly even locate and procure a nuclear bomb for all I know, but a baby. Good grief. Today I heard another harrowing story of parents who were adopting, who at the last minute, in the delivery room, the birth father decided right then and there that he wanted to keep the baby even though he had no real intention of taking care of it and then for the next year, the baby lived in a foster home as he didn’t take it, the birth mother didn’t want it, and the parents who were right there with heavy arms waiting for it couldn’t have it. The good news is that after a year, the baby went to the parents who wanted it but the 12 months in between were fraught with acute anxiety and heartache.