Home was a small 2 bedroom bungelow in the suburbs. It was also surrounded by reporters. Someone at the hospital had obviously blabbed everything and so as I pulled up in my wife's VW Beetle, we were slowed to nearly a halt as I gently pushed the car through the throng of lights and cameras and reporters screaming for an interview.
I was glad the windows were wound up. Unofrtunately all the noise woke up the baby and it's horn began beeping loudly, crying and crying. Sarah of course was terrified by all the attention and was desperately trying to calm the poor thing down.
"Mr. French! Mr. French! Is this some kind of art project?"
"Was it some kind of political statement?"
"VW are denying any involvement, do you care to comment?"
"Did your wife have sex with a car?"
"Do you really believe the car is your child sir?"
"Harold? Harold? Sarah French, any comment? Were you forced into this?"
"Do you think this is a genuine miracle?"
It was all too much and I parked the car in the drive way I opened the door suddenly, slamming it into the stomach of a reporter and knocking him over.
"Get lost, the lot of you! Me and my wife have been through a lot in the past few hours, can't you vultures just leave us alone?"
And then I said it.
"You're scaring the baby!"
It only set them off again even louder. Ignoring them as best I could, I went around the other side of the car and helped Sarah out. Still cradling the baby, we both walked to our front door. The reporters were at least smart enough to get out of our way now or heaven help me, I would have done someone some damage. I turned the key, opened the door and we were in, safe from the cries and accusations and questions and lights. I gently lead Sarah into the living room and then set about closing all of the curtains while she saw to the baby. When I'd made sure we we blocked out from the outside world I sat down beside her with moist eyes as she sobbed into my shoulder amidst the beeping horn of the tiny beetle.
"It'll be alright honey. We'll get through this, together. I love you."
She looked up at me then, her eyes red above tear stained cheeks. "Tell me you love him Harold, tell me you love our son!"
I looked down and brought a hand to my mouth. I couldn't say it and it was killing me.
"Can I hold... him?"
Her face lit up a little then and she passed the parcel of metal and and glass and towels into my arms. I stared into it's windscreen.
Through the glass you could see interior perfectly, everything was there, a tiny, miniature gear stick and steering wheel. The seats seemed to be leather, not like Sarah's car. Trembling, a stroked the bonnet and the beeping began to subside to be replaced with the slight rumbling and an engine and in that moment, I knew this little car, this tiny green VW Beetle was my son. Tears began falling from my eyes then, splashing across the babies windscreen, and it's tiny windscreen wipers brushed them away.
"Hey there little guy. I'm your daddy, yeah, that's me. Jesus Christ Sarah, we have a son. I'm a dad, a real dad!"
Sarah and I fell asleep on the sofa in the living room, holding each other in each others arms, the baby cradled tightly between us.
It was really real. I was a father.