Sins of the parents

Calisto stood in her fluffy slippers and new dressing gown of palest blue satin looking through the glass at the tiny being she had only recently and rather reluctantly given birth to. She had been forced to stay in bed for a week in the hope the baby would remain contentedly within his first home, her womb. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Damn, that house fire!

She knew she had been doing too much after the fire, cleaning up and sorting out what could be salvaged. Moving in--hopefully very temporarily with the in-laws—was stress enough, but she also had to tend and calm the other kids who didn’t like being uprooted so violently from their comfortable home. And then there was the fruitless search for a new home, one which they could afford to rent so she wouldn’t have to see the snide expression of her mother-in-law’s hateful face.

She never failed to say how much better off her precious Bobby would be if he hadn’t gotten tricked into marrying her. Calisto was almost certain it was staying with her mother-in-law that prompted the early contractions more than all the other things combined.  Either way, she had not taken care of herself and her baby now was paying for it.

He was so tiny, but in a place like this, size was relative. The doctors all insisted he was big for being two and a half months premature. Big? He was two ounces short of four pounds. In what alternate world was that big? She was used to having huge babies. Eight, nine and almost twelve pounds respectively, her other kids weighed at birth. No, in her opinion, nothing that little should ever be called big. But then, her opinion didn’t count much here.

She glanced to the far left side of the neo-natal unit and saw what they meant by really tiny. The poor little thing could easily fit into the palm of your hand. The little creature attached to so many machines all going beep-beep-beep might not make it. Just two hours ago another baby twice as big had died.

“Poor sweet girl,” she muttered fogging up the window as tears filled her eyes. She could tell it was a girl only by the pink name tag attached to her glass enclosure. Mary Jane O’Neill it read. 1 lb, 6 oz, 11 inches long. Just under it a hand drawn angel roughly crayon-colored was taped underneath. In a childish scrawl it read “little angel”. Mary Jane may soon join the angels like the other baby did and Calisto’s own little boy could, too.

He still didn’t have a name. She and Bobby couldn’t agree on one. Calisto thought Bobby was being very insensitive never wanting to see the baby. She suspected he would be glad if he died. He had wanted to stop at three kids and perhaps they should have. But she hadn’t listened to the signs that were all around. They shouldn’t have had any kids, she figured. They didn’t deserve them. This was becoming quite clear to her since the baby was born so ill and with every possibility he could be handicapped, if he makes it at all. And now the doctors say there is something wrong with their two older children. They mentioned autistic tendencies in one and mental retardation in the other. She and Bobby had sinned and their children were being punished in their stead.

Calisto wiped angrily at her tears and walked back to her room. The nurses didn’t like her bothering the baby. So what that it seemed to soothe him to have her sing or talk to him. She knew he recognized her even if the nurses scoffed at such a notion. But maybe Bobby was right not to see him. That way he wouldn’t miss him, right? Not going to work with her though. She had carried him from day one and felt every tiny bump and squirm as he moved within her. Not miss her baby? What a laugh!

“Back so soon?” her roommate asked cautiously as she tried to nurse her full-term, extremely fussy baby girl. She was completely bald and red as a beet with a pinched, dissatisfied face, but her mother thought she was the supreme beauty of all time. Mothers are so funny that way, blind to the flaws of their own kids. That was, Calisto supposed, what made them good moms.

She nodded and climbed into bed turning her back on her roommate to ensure no more conversation. Instead she would have to endure her gentle cooing to the fretful child. Calisto’s kids combined never cried so much as this one little kid. She missed being home. She missed her kids. She missed Bobby, but she didn’t want to go home without the baby. Soon they would make her leave with empty arms. She dreaded that. What if he died while she was at home? Would they then let her hold him? She couldn’t help it. She started crying again.

That will teach her to sin. Only thing is, it still didn’t feel like a sin, although she knew it was. She and Bobby loved each other beyond everything else back in high school, but their parents had forbidden them to see each other. That didn’t stop them. Not honoring your parents was sin number one. But they didn’t care and it didn’t stop them from being together, in the biblical sense. Sin number two was fornication. Then she got pregnant, and that was sine number three.

Well they got married even if they were so young and they still loved each other and all the kids they produced. Didn’t that make everything all right again? Was it really that bad what they did? But yes, it must have been or things wouldn’t be so messed up now. Her baby wouldn’t be dying, they wouldn’t be homeless and their two little boys wouldn’t be of abnormal intelligence.

“Calisto?”

“Bobby,” she whispered sitting up and hugging him fiercely.

“Baby, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry,” he said holding her close. “He’ll be fine. Joshua will be fine, you’ll see.”

“Joshua? But you said you didn’t like that name,” she said looking up at him.

“It grew on me,” he replied with a careless shrug and a bright smile. “Besides, you like it so much. How about Clayton for a middle name?”

“Joshua Clayton. We can call him J.C. for short,” she said eagerly.

Bobby laughed and kissed her softly. “J.C. then. Wanna see him? They just told me we can hold him for a few minutes since he’s doing so much better today.”

“Really?” she said excitedly.

“Yeah, really,” he said wiping her tears away. “They think he’ll be fine and in a few weeks he can come home and make all sorts of noise just like the rest of the kids. We’ll be a crazy big family of six. Can you handle it?”

Her answer was to hug him tightly. “I love you, Bobby. It’s not a sin to love, is it?”

“No, it’s never a sin to be in love.”