Maggie’s purchases. My mother had only had one with a faded brown non-descript cover. Maggie picked albums covered in flowers and polka dots and happy things. Below the oldest photo album, there was a damaged blue baby book. Carefully, I pulled it out, along with my mom’s photo album.
My baby book had been blue because all the ultrasounds had said I was a boy. Tucked in the back of the book there was even a cracked ultrasound photo where the doctor had circled what they had incorrectly assumed was my penis. Most families would have made some kind of joke about that, but not mine. Mom had just looked at me with disdain and said, “You were supposed to be a boy.”
76
Most parents start out filling the beginning of the baby book perfectly, but then forget as time goes on. Not mine. Mom had put one or two pictures in, and that was it. Most of the handwriting was either my father’s or Maggie’s.
My foot prints were in there, along with my measurements at birth and a copy of my birth certificate. I touched it delicately, proving that my birth was tangible. I had been born in this family, whether Mom and I liked it or not.
“What are you doing, kiddo?” Maggie asked softly from behind me, and I jumped a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” I tried to cover up my baby book, feeling as if I had been caught doing something naughty. I turned to look back at her and smiled meekly. Wrapped in her house coat, Maggie yawned and ran a hand through her sleep disheveled hair. “What are you doing up?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Maggie replied with a smile. She sat down on the floor next to me, leaning against the back of the couch. “I heard you get up.” She nodded to the pile of albums on my lap. “You feeling nostalgic?”
“I don’t know really.”
“What are you looking at?” Maggie leaned over so she could peer at the photo album. “Oh, that’s an old one. You were just a baby then.”
I flipped open the book, and it went it chronologically, so the first few pages were of Matt when he was little. There were lots of pictures of Mom, Dad, and Matt, and they all looked ridiculously happy. All three of them had blond hair and blue eyes. They looked like something out of a Hallmark commercial or something.
Maggie looked at it with me, making clucking sounds at my dad. She gently touched his picture once and commented on how handsome he was.
Even though everyone agreed that my father had been a good guy, we rarely talked about him. It was part of our way of not talking about Mom and not talking about what happened. Everything before my sixth birthday didn’t matter, and that just happened to include every memory of Dad.
77
About ten pages into the book, everything changed. As soon as pictures of me started to appear, my mother began looking surly and sullen. In the very first picture, I was only a few days old. I was wearing an outfit with blue trains all over it, and my mother glaring at me.
“You were such a cute baby!” Maggie laughed. “But I remember that.
You wore boys clothes for the first month because they were so sure you were going to be a boy.”
“That explains a lot,” I mumbled, and Maggie laughed. “Why didn’t they just get me new clothes? They had the money for it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie sighed, looking far away. “It was something your mother wanted.” She shook her head. “She was weird about things.”
“What was my name supposed to be?” I couldn’t remember. When I was younger, people had talked about it, but nobody ever reminisced about my childhood anymore.
“Um… Michael!” Maggie snapped her fingers when she remembered.
“Michael Conrad Everly. But then you were girl, so that ruined that.”
“How did I get Wendy from that?” I wrinkled my nose. “Michelle would make more sense.”
“Well…” Maggie looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Your mother refused to name you, and
My baby book had been blue because all the ultrasounds had said I was a boy. Tucked in the back of the book there was even a cracked ultrasound photo where the doctor had circled what they had incorrectly assumed was my penis. Most families would have made some kind of joke about that, but not mine. Mom had just looked at me with disdain and said, “You were supposed to be a boy.”
76
Most parents start out filling the beginning of the baby book perfectly, but then forget as time goes on. Not mine. Mom had put one or two pictures in, and that was it. Most of the handwriting was either my father’s or Maggie’s.
My foot prints were in there, along with my measurements at birth and a copy of my birth certificate. I touched it delicately, proving that my birth was tangible. I had been born in this family, whether Mom and I liked it or not.
“What are you doing, kiddo?” Maggie asked softly from behind me, and I jumped a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” I tried to cover up my baby book, feeling as if I had been caught doing something naughty. I turned to look back at her and smiled meekly. Wrapped in her house coat, Maggie yawned and ran a hand through her sleep disheveled hair. “What are you doing up?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Maggie replied with a smile. She sat down on the floor next to me, leaning against the back of the couch. “I heard you get up.” She nodded to the pile of albums on my lap. “You feeling nostalgic?”
“I don’t know really.”
“What are you looking at?” Maggie leaned over so she could peer at the photo album. “Oh, that’s an old one. You were just a baby then.”
I flipped open the book, and it went it chronologically, so the first few pages were of Matt when he was little. There were lots of pictures of Mom, Dad, and Matt, and they all looked ridiculously happy. All three of them had blond hair and blue eyes. They looked like something out of a Hallmark commercial or something.
Maggie looked at it with me, making clucking sounds at my dad. She gently touched his picture once and commented on how handsome he was.
Even though everyone agreed that my father had been a good guy, we rarely talked about him. It was part of our way of not talking about Mom and not talking about what happened. Everything before my sixth birthday didn’t matter, and that just happened to include every memory of Dad.
77
About ten pages into the book, everything changed. As soon as pictures of me started to appear, my mother began looking surly and sullen. In the very first picture, I was only a few days old. I was wearing an outfit with blue trains all over it, and my mother glaring at me.
“You were such a cute baby!” Maggie laughed. “But I remember that.
You wore boys clothes for the first month because they were so sure you were going to be a boy.”
“That explains a lot,” I mumbled, and Maggie laughed. “Why didn’t they just get me new clothes? They had the money for it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie sighed, looking far away. “It was something your mother wanted.” She shook her head. “She was weird about things.”
“What was my name supposed to be?” I couldn’t remember. When I was younger, people had talked about it, but nobody ever reminisced about my childhood anymore.
“Um… Michael!” Maggie snapped her fingers when she remembered.
“Michael Conrad Everly. But then you were girl, so that ruined that.”
“How did I get Wendy from that?” I wrinkled my nose. “Michelle would make more sense.”
“Well…” Maggie looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Your mother refused to name you, and
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