baby

THE BABY was not mine. It was my ex-girlfriend’s baby. I know this because she brought it with her when she came to visit Estonia with her friend (or was she her girlfriend?) They looked alike, two lesbian women from the West Coast with pale faces and orange curly hair. We were standing behind the Raekoda or Town Hall in Tartu on a wet, gray streaky day. Student activities were underway, something like a race or marathon. People lined the cobblestone streets, my ex-girlfriend and her friend included. They were unassuming American tourists. For them this was all just taking in the culture. That’s when she handed the baby to me. “Can you take care of her?” she asked. “We would like to do some sightseeing.”

Sightseeing? I walked across the Town Hall Square to Katla’s apartment house, then up that flight of stairs to her door. Inside, I discovered that its rooms were full of boxes and guests. “Whose baby is it?” someone asked. They were standing around a Christmas tree, having a kind of packing holiday party. They were wearing festive sweaters. “It’s not my baby,” I said, cradling her. “But she sure is sweet.” She was a lovely child with yellow fuzz for hair. And despite being maybe half a year old, the baby somehow had learned to talk quite impressively.

This I found out later when I lost the baby. I had just set her down for a moment in the busy apartment and then couldn’t find her. How could I have lost someone else’s baby?! What was my ex-girlfriend going to say when I told her she was gone? Why was I watching my ex-girlfriend’s baby anyway? That was just like her, you know, to hand all the responsibility over to some fool like me while she went out and got her things done. I raced from room to room, hoping for a sign. Then I heard some happy giggling. From the corner of the back room, I saw something move from beneath a blanket. The blanket lifted and the baby peaked out, chubby and pink. “Hey, silly,” the baby gurgled and laughed at me. “I’ve been hiding here all this time.”