Chapter 2

Solitude provides a venue for thinking, and that's what I was doing lying on my bed with my hands clasped behind my head. I had shoved two pillows under my naked ass -- my skirt was still bunched up at my waist. I figured I could iron it in the morning. My feet were flat on the mattress with my knees up. I stared at the shadowy ceiling. The only light in the room seeped under my bedroom door from the hall. I lay there hoping my son's sperm swimming inside me would find an egg. But then other thoughts crept into my troubled mind.

"I enjoyed it," I scolded myself. "It wasn't supposed to be like that. All I wanted was another child. How could things have gone so wrong?"

I lifted my head and looked around the bedroom realizing I was talking to myself. And then my head dropped and sunk into my husband's pillow as I thought back to the beginning.

Marshal and I had begun fighting. It often revolved around insignificant things, but we both knew the root cause -- although we refused to admit it openly. I wanted another child. We had conceived with Jeff on our honeymoon and thought it would be just as easy two years later -- preferably a girl this time. What mother doesn't want a girl to dress up in cute dresses? And what father doesn't want a little princess to dote over?

But the fertility gods were not kind to us. And then Marshal had a sudden loss of weight. I nagged until he saw a doctor and, after a few examinations, we learned he had cancer. It was crushing news, but he was young and strong and we had youthful optimism on our side. Thankfully the chemotherapy rid his body of the disease and we once again tried to get me pregnant ... and tried, and tried, and tried. It got to the point I saw panic in Marshal's eyes when I told him I was ready to go to bed. I guess I wore him out. But after months of not conceiving I nagged him again to see a doctor. The news was devastating. The chemotherapy had reduced Marshal's sperm count significantly. We kept trying, less frequently though. We limited our sex to once a week in order to build up his sperm, but even that didn't work.

When I celebrated my 38th birthday, I was depressed. No matter how hard Marshal and Jeff tried, they couldn't cheer me up. You see, I knew my biological clock was ticking. Even if I was still capable of conceiving, each year made it more dangerous.

I wanted to make use of medical advancements and do it artificially, but Marshal would have none of that. He said it was going to happen naturally or not at all, that, "If God was willing, you'll get pregnant." The Lord helped me through Marshal's illness, but when he said that I learned to hate God and even doubt His existence.

So when I believed time was running out I felt desperate. I would blow up over any little thing and Marshal and I would fight. At first we tried to hide it from Jeff, but after a while our outbursts couldn't wait. Jeff would run to his bedroom and slam the door while we continued to scream at each other. And then Marshal would storm out of the house. I'd go to Jeff's room and ask to be allowed in. Only a few times did he leave me standing out there until I sulked down the hall to my bedroom and cried. But most times I was allowed in and sat on the side of his bed and told him I was sorry and that things would be all right. Marshal and I still loved each other and always made up, so what I told Jeff was sincere.

However, before we knew it, Marshal and I would be fighting again and I'd be consoling Jeff.

One day Jeff said, "Why is Dad so mean?"

"Hon, he's not mean. He just doesn't feel the way I do."

"He doesn't want a baby?"

"How did you know about a baby?"

"C'mon, Mom, I'm 18 years old. Sheesh, don't you guys even know what you're saying when you're yelling?"

For the first time, I saw my son as an adult. I knew he was going to college in the fall, but to me that was just another school. I looked at him and saw a muscular young man with dark blonde hair highlighted with light streaks. The front of his hair hung down and dangled over his eyes. My hand started to move but I pulled it back. I had a habit of sweeping the lock of hair to the side but he'd immediately shake his head and it would once again be hanging over his brown eyes.

"Earth to Mom. Earth to Mom."

I blinked and a huge smile broke out on my face. I leaned forward and pulled his head to my chest and patted his back. I felt him tense up, but I didn't care. He was my little boy and I wanted to hold him.

After a while I pushed him away and held his shoulders at arm's length. I stared at his face not knowing what to say. I noticed Jeff's eyes watering.

"Aren't I enough," he said solemnly.

I pulled him to my chest again and hugged him tight. "Oh, hon, you're the best. Don't ever think that. It's just that I always wanted more children. I don't know ... maybe it's my motherly instinct." And then I pushed him back, again with my hands on his shoulders with a wry smile. "After all, you're grown up now. You're not a child."

"You love Dad, don't you?"

"Of course. Why would you even ask?"

"Well 'cause you fight all the time."

"And we make up. There's never been anyone for me other than your father."

"Not even me?"

"Oh, baby, I love you more than my own life. Don't ever think that."

"Mom, what if... ?"

Jeff's voice trailed off and he looked down. I waited, but he remained like that. This was so hard on him.

"Don't worry, hon, it will be all right. Dad and I will work it out."

I patted his hand and left.

But things didn't get better. In fact, Marshal and I fought more often. And sometimes we didn't make up for a long time. I was afraid my marriage was ending. Desperate, I thought about counseling. But what could a counselor do? I wanted a baby, Marshal's sperm made the chances of that happening highly unlikely, and I was getting older every day. And then Marshal left for a weekend business training trip. We had a fight and he left without making up. I didn't even get a goodbye kiss. I was devastated and moped around the house alone -- until Jeff came home.

I jumped when Jeff called me and quickly wiped my puffy eyes. But I couldn't answer. I had been crying for over an hour and felt lost. I needed to save my marriage but I couldn't put the thought of holding a baby and raising it out of my mind. It was overpowering. It made me feel empty.

When Jeff came into the living room I turned away from him. I didn't want him to see that I had been crying. But like I said, he wasn't a child anymore and sat next to me on the couch. Our roles reversed and he pulled my head to his chest and cradled the back of my head in his hand. The dam broke and my tears soaked his shirt.