Many of Maybelle’s friends have children, and a few of them even have grandchildren. Maybelle has neither. So she’s used to being the odd woman out when it comes to celebrating births. But her displaced status hits her like a stinky diaper when, over cheesecake and decaf at her friend Sarah Beth’s baby shower, she hears these words: “At least my gums aren’t bleeding as bad with this pregnancy.” Maybelle glances at her with a look of horror. “Your gums bleed?”

            “Oh yeah,” says Sarah Beth, her face serene though puffy. “You don’t know the half of it.”

            Several of the fifteen or so women in the tasteful, book-lined den nod. They huddle around the ottoman-turned-coffee table and cluck their tongues in agreement. Soon Maybelle excuses herself and goes into the kitchen to put away her plate. There she notices that the magnets on the Subzero hold children’s finger-painted pictures full of primary colors and promise. On Maybelle’s Whirlpool you’ll find pizza coupons and heartworm reminders for her mutt, Quay.

            When Maybelle returns to the den, the conversation by the fireplace has turned to difficult deliveries. “They waited too long to give me an epidural,” says one woman. “I thought they’d never get my son out,” claims another. “I was actually glad to hear the doctor call for the forceps.”

            “Read any good books lately?” Maybelle asks, trying desperately to be one of the girls. “No,” says a redhead. “But I’ve memorized the entire Veggie Tales video series. In English and Spanish.”

            Sarah Beth is just weeks away from the due date of her second child. Maybelle has witnessed quite a few of her friends’ pregnancies and every time she considers it a miracle. How can a woman’s body do that? What does it feel like? Do they know what they’re getting into?

            Maybelle’s even thrown a shower or two, including one for Sarah Beth when she had her first child. Maybelle sent encouraging, funny cards when Margaret was flat on her back with a pump in her leg during her last trimester. Last summer, Maybelle wiped more than a few runny noses and kissed several knees during Vacation Bible School at her church. Her own sister has three kids, and Maybelle’s a godmother to two precious boys, for crying out loud. So she knows about centimeters dilated and hemorrhoids and the terrible twos and appropriate consequences for inappropriate behavior and endearing hugs against the crook of your neck. But Maybelle does not have first-hand knowledge of throwing up every morning for three months, not being able to stand the smell of her husband during the second trimester, and tottering around on swollen ankles the size of baseballs.

            Maybelle and Sarah Beth have been friends for more than ten years. They have been through a lot of bad dates (mainly Maybelle’s), several career changes (both of them), and the loss of one sibling (Sarah Beth’s).  And Maybelle loves Sarah Beth’s daughter, who seems to like Maybelle well enough, though when she says her prayers at night apparently Maybelle is not mentioned until after the nanny and the nanny’s dog.

            As the shower draws to a close, Maybelle thanks Sarah Beth for the invitation. She knows that Sarah Beth worries about her sometimes, being that Maybelle is focused on her career and does not have children. Caught in a sea of maternity, as it were. Maybelle tells her that it’s okay, that everyone isn’t destined to be a mother, that God has something else in store for her, that she’s thankful for the time she can spend with her friends’ children. (Maybelle is a pretty cool babysitter if she does say so herself.)

            “I appreciate being included tonight,” says Maybelle as she heads toward her car, parked under a bright night full of stars and wonder. And she does.

            “But you can keep your bleeding gums to yourself.”

 Copyright Amy Lyles Wilson, 2008