Tag Archives: fiction

“Every sitcom, rom-com and chick-flick lied,” thought Peter.

There was no inappropriate breaking of the waters, frantic taxi rides or giving birth in the car park.  No milling throng of family waiting for the proud father to emerge from the delivery suite like a prophet in scrubs announcing the good news that a son had been born. Instead, there was the interminable waiting of fourteen hours of labour, followed by a brief period of unspeakable profanities and finally, a delivery. Now there was the silence of a husband and wife cradled into each other with a small, wrinkly, slightly bemused-looking human being nuzzling into his mother’s breast.

Peter looked down at his son and muttered, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

The crease and crinkle of paper caught Dave’s ear as he walked passed his bedroom. Looking around the door he saw his son crouched on the far side of the bed.

“What are you looking at?” he asked as he came around to see.

Spread out between in front of James was the curvature of breasts and buttocks and a finely manicured lawn with the staple as her bellybutton ornament. Dave stood and rehearsed the reprimand forming in his head, but was interrupted.

“Do you wish that Mum looked like this?”

She picked up the silver-framed photograph of a woman nursing a newborn baby.  In the photo her arms were wrapped like a wall, protective and sheltering. She remembered the woman she was then and the intense possessiveness she had felt. A selfishness that drank like the child at her breast; even wanting to withhold the child from its father.

“Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,” she murmured.

She waited for that sensation again as she packed the photograph into her luggage, waiting for the taxi, hoping the grit would become a pearl.