ROSEBURG — I hate it when mom and dad yell and argue.

All right already; I’m right here. I can hear you both loud and clear.

Dad says he has a right to make decisions about his own body and mom hollers back that he promised her I would have a baby brother or sister someday.

Dad continues, “Listen sweetheart, I love you very much, but this is my right and I have a responsibility to you and our daughter not to have another child unless we can care for it properly. Besides, a vast-et-co-me (or something like that) is safe.”

“Look at it in a different light,” he says. “It’s a matter of perspective.”

“That’s just your way of trying to trick me into believing what you say is right and twisting the facts to make your point valid in your view,” Mom counters.

“Correct,” he replies, “and a lot of women, and men also, do the exactly the same thing to get their own way regardless of who they may hurt.”

“No, it’s just your stupid excuse to be selfish and think only of yourself. Besides, what about my needs and our baby’s needs? Don’t these matter anymore to you?” Mom’s lip quivers under stressful tears.

Hey, both of you, stop yelling. It hurts my ears.

Why can’t they hear me?


Just as Dad was about to speak again, something weird was happening. Suddenly there was pressure all around me. After a long period of push and release, eventually I was working my way toward something bright. What’s that light in my eyes and that loud chatter?

No! No! Don’t let them take me. Help me daddy! I like it in here!

Hey, where am I? And who are you?


An unfamiliar voice jubilantly proclaims my fragile odyssey from a previous embryonic life into this new world of light and air. This person dressed in white lifts me up from the door of my warm safe cocoon, saying, “Congratulations. You have a perfect baby.”

Suddenly this sage relinquishes me into another’s grasp, who repeats this ceremonial procedure, holding me up again, turning me around once more and saying, “Look sweetheart, isn’t he a perfectly beautiful baby boy?”

Don’t they know how cold it feels out here?

But hey, I recognize that second voice.

You must be my daddy and that must be my mommy, right? But wait just a minute. What do you mean I’m a boy? Before, you said I was a girl. But what’s that down below my tummy? It’s a nozzle ready for a flow! Oops. Sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to get your face all wet.


They all laugh and thank God — whoever that is — that I am Ok. Once more, I feel safe, bundled up and in Mom’s arms. As I watch Dad clean his face, I’m also relieved a little if you catch my drift.

I’m home where I’m supposed to be. Just Mom, Dad and me, at least for now, all secured, loved, and appreciated. I’m glad they decided to keep me.

Tresselle is a member of St. Joseph Parish in Roseburg.