Just in case you forgot... my baby had scales.  Gentle fishy scales, yes, but scales nonetheless. Labor was not the least bit pleasant.

However, the soft greenish-grey contacts in my eyes gave me the strength to endure the pain.  I have to live for my artificially beautitful eyes.  Oh, and, my mermaid baby and unofficial wife.

Once the baby was born, I cried.  I laughed.  I slumped backwards in the large tub, the water soaking through our cardboard floor.  My Love was fussing over the baby, checking to make sure that it was really alive and all.  But I was drifting.  I could not form coherent thoughts.   My mind was softened with a sweet pinkish haze, a manifestation of my relief.  I had done it.  I was a mother.

As I breathed in the drafty air that usually settled in around dusk, my Love placed the child in my arms.  I looked at it, startled, and lowered it into the water.  It had slippery skin with a slight greenish tint, and a glimmering blue tail.  Immediately it began to swim, and the yellow light of the streetlamps illuminated its beautiful scales.  We both watched in awe.  "It's... so..."

"It's beautiful."

"God, what do you name a thing like that?  What kind of name would do it justice?"

There was silence.  Then I said, "Indigo."

"Indigo..."

We both began to sob, and kissed each other.

                                                   --

In the morning, however, our situation was far less romantic.  I attempted to breast-feed Indigo, but each time it threw everything up.  Somehow, my lactation simply did not agree with it, and that was frustrating indeed.

We tried to feed it Starbucks biscottis and even pooled our pennies for a frothy frappuccino, but its stomach rejected everything.  We didn't know what to do.  We scoured the town for something that Indigo could digest.  We tried bagels, vegetable soup, Fancy Feast, paper towels, bird carcasses, everything.  We couldn't find a single thing.

Until, finally, it told us itself.

We were anxiously discussing our options on the hill as Indigo crawled around nearby.  We did keep a good eye on it, but knew that it needed to be allowed to explore the world on its own terms.  A few minutes later, we heard an almost unearthly squeal of delight.

It was scooping earthworms into its mouth like spaghetti.

"Oh my God!  Worms!"  -- at first our reaction was one of surprise, but now we hunt for earthworms every morning.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!