That's Life: A Birthday Story
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The night of Nov. 16, 1966, I had showered and put on my nightclothes, but I never got to bed. Around 10 p.m., I said to my husband, "Bill, it's time to go!" He knew exactly what I meant as I was due to deliver our second child just a week hence.
I changed clothes, getting into the same outfit I had worn to the hospital about three years earlier when I had given birth to our firstborn, a son we called Christopher. I figured that outfit — a blue maternity dress and a pair of sensible black shoes — was lucky. Meanwhile, Bill went upstairs to ask our landlady if she would watch Christopher, who was sleeping, until my parents and sister drove in from Long Island to take care of him.
When I was pregnant with my son, we did not own a car and had to call a taxi when it was time to go to the hospital. When the taxi service learned I was pregnant, they doubled the charge. I figured that was to cover the cost of cleaning the taxi in case my water broke before we reached the hospital. But the dispatcher said, "We charge more because the drivers get uptight."
Well, the driver we got was anything but nervous. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on assuaging our fears as expectant parents. "I have six children," he said. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."
But he noticed that my voice was shaky as I spoke to my husband, and offered me a cigarette. I thanked him, but rejected the offer. I was having enough trouble breathing.
Fortunately, we bought a car, a blue Chevy, a year after our son Christopher was born, so when we went to the hospital for the birth of our second child, we went under our own power.
It was about 10 minutes of 12 when we arrived at the hospital and were directed to the registration desk. The woman at the desk asked me "How are you feeling?" It seemed a strange question, considering my belly looked like it was about to explode, but I said, "OK."
Then the woman explained that if I registered right then, we would be charged for that day. "Can you wait until a minute after midnight?" she asked.
Well, we almost owned the car — we had a few payments left to make — but we still had to be careful with money so I waited. (This is where Jenny always says, "Daddy must have been proud of you.")
As it turned out, I had plenty of time to get to the maternity wing of the hospital. Jennifer was not born until nearly 5 a.m. The wait had been well worthwhile, including the nine months I had carried her in my womb. When the obstetrician announced "It's a girl." I uttered, "Are you sure?"
I had not even imagined that I would be so blessed as to give birth to a son first and then a daughter to complete our family. Jennifer was a beautiful baby, albeit with little hair, which gradually grew in curly like her father's.
I loved my baby girl with all my heart, and now I am proud of the woman she has become and still love her with all my heart.
Phyllis McGuire writes occasional columns about life for iBerkshires.
