Behold, something I wrote in two hours (combined).

Motherhood

Sheila Brofloski was going to be a mother.

The moment her water broke was the moment she had to accept.

And the future seemed so uncertain for her.

When Gerald first broached the subject with her, she wasn't sure what to think. Sure, Gerald would be a good father. Sure, he had his faults, but what person didn't? The real question was her. Could she be a mother?

It still felt only like yesterday since she woke up one day and realized that she just couldn't take it anymore. The partying, the booze, the boytoys… She wanted no more part of it, at least the conscious part of her, the part that told her to get out of there as soon as she could.

Another part missed that life, it hungered for it, craved for it. As she walked the streets, she could hear the noises and something whisper in her ear. 'Come on, these bozos don't know how to partay, show them what S-Woww-Tittybang can do.'

Like that story from Edgar Allen Poe that she could barely remember from school, the noises and voices started to get louder and louder. She started spending hours in her room, underneath the covers, covering her ears, willing everything to stop, to just let her think for a bit. Thank goodness that Gerald and her parents were so understanding during her trials.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. She was about to do it, she was going back out there. On went the clothes, the make-up, and the attitude. Gerald had something to do at his job, and her parents had to be out doing errands. No one could have stopped her.

Something stopped her. A body length mirror that Sheila's gaze noticed just as she was putting on her shoes. Looking at it a bit more, she looked down at her stomach, thinking that she gained a bit of weight.

Then she remembered what she was carrying within.

A few moments passed, then minutes. Calmly, she took off her shoes. As she went back up the stairs, off came the clothes, the makeup. And as she entered the bedroom, off came her composure.

As soon as Gerald came home that day, she asked if they could move far, far away.

South Park was different from Jersey.

While Jersey had beaches and tans, South Park had snow and pale skin. She should have been miserable, and yet, stuck with it. If it meant that she was nowhere near Jersey, she would gladly buy all the thick clothing that she could.

Even the voices for her got quieter, no longer egged on by the town around her. She found it easier to resist the party invitations, and she simply stayed home, while Gerald went to those kinds of things. IT should have been simple.

On the other hand, the rumors and whispers started from the native townfolk. They probably thought they were being discreet and secretive, but Sheila knew when someone had been talking smack about her. She then had to restrain herself from going all Jersey on them.

And there it was, discipline, the one thing that she had never had any experience, being the only lifeline that she had in this time. Whether it was resisting the call of the bottles and music, or resisting the call to plant herself in front of the whispers and starting causing ruckus, it was a constant balancing act that had her over a dark abyss.

And whatever nights she had spent pouring over how-to guides on how to be a mother, she would always hold her belly, wondering about the future and what it held for the child. Could she be a mother? Could the child have a mother that was constantly balancing on the line? What would happen if she ever crossed it?

There were even sometimes when she wondered if she should just call it off, just admit that she wasn't mother material, and the child deserved a better mother than her.

Either way, those thoughts remained thoughts, and she continued forward. Hesitant, but forward.

Then finally came the day, the hour, the minute.

Gerald had been at work, and she was going over another book. The next thing she knew, it was time. Everything was a rush, as she suddenly found Gerald ushering her into the car, and driving her to the hospital. The staff greeted them with a wheelchair, that brought her into the ER.

Just a swirl of motion, and she was in a bed, starting to heave. All the pain that she had felt, all the hangovers and regrets, was nothing compared to this. Her throat felt hoarse, as her hands gripped tightly. She felt steel in one hand, flesh and bone in the other. And somewhere in her addled mind, she could heard Gerald trying his best to console her, trying his best not to let his crushed fingers get to him.

Finally, it was over, and Sheila could only thank every god she knew for the relief. The smiles and congratulations told her that the child was alive. As time moved on, and Sheila waited for the child to come for her, the questions and anxieties over the past months returned full force.

Would she be a good mother? Could she raise a child? What if she relapsed, became that women again? Maybe she should put the child up for adoption? Or maybe…

Everything stopped as a nurse handed him to her, wrapped in a blanket, the color almost like an egg.

Beautiful, there was no word to describe him. She could scarcely believe that she was partly responsible for this beautiful boy, this absolute miracle that made everything worth it.

"What should we name him, Sheila?"

Sheila looked up to Gerald, before looking down at him, the baby's eyes watching them, keen intelligence like his father's shining in them.

A good name, a strong name.

"Kyle, my dear sweet Kyle." Sheila breathed as she extended a finger out. Kyle grabbed onto it and gurgled. The smile on her face couldn't get higher.

"Don't worry, Kyle, Mommy will never let anything happen to you."

And for the first time in months, Sheila Brofloski looked forward.