"Congratulations", he said as he handed me my baby. "I named him Thomas, Tom. I hope you don't mind." "Thomas", I thought. "Why would I ever name a baby named Thomas?" But I guess I had my reasons, whatever. I had my baby, my first ever baby, and what a cute baby he made. White looking baby, which I thought was interesting. But none the less, this was my baby.
And somehow they showed up. Fuck! I can't let them see this baby. What the hell will they think?! They didn't even know I was pregnant. I had managed to keep that from them, what am I going to do now. And with a white baby named Thomas of all things. And there that thought goes, flitting through my mind. Disturbingly easily, I have these thoughts. Regardless, here they are, out he goes. Quickly I put Thomas on my bed, under my blankets, and softly cover his sweet round face.
One hour goes by, three hours go by, finally I can escape. What should I do with my free time now..? Thomas! Damn it, I forgot all about him. Oh Thomas, I got to get to him as fast as possible. I pull off the covers, and there he is, funny looking. Somehow, morphed into a copy of the AMA journal. One of the thousands that I throw away each week, without even opening. I think that it's odd, my baby has turned into an AMA journal. But it doesn't matter right now, right now he's not breathing. And so ALS it is. Using my first two fingers, I press on his little chest.
And I cry knowing that he's suffocated because I put him there, under my blanket, and out of sight. Because my life has become compartmentalized. And the only one to blame is me.
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