Stephen

Alyssa was one year old when I found out I was pregnant with our fifth child.  I was thrilled. Sheldon wasn't.  I never could quite figure him out.

"Would you rather we had stopped having kids after Russell was born?" I asked him one time, "and not have Alyssa?"

"Of course not," he answered crossly.  He absolutely adored Alyssa, even going so far as to take the initiative to pick her up and play with her without being asked, which he had never done with the older children.

"Well, would you rather we didn't have Russell, or Holly, or Linnea?" I pressed him, intent on showing him that he really did like having children.

"I wouldn't give up any of them, now that they are here," he grumped crossly.  "Of course I wouldn't rather not have them.  I just don't see why you want to have more."

I gave up.  I guess he couldn't see into the future the way I did, and know that he would love and want all of the children we would have, the same he wanted the ones that were already here. 

It reminded me of the time I asked him what he thought our lives would be like ten years from now. 

"I don't know," he grumbled crossly then, too.  "How can I see into the future?"

"Well, don't you have goals and plans?" I asked him, really curious at that point.  I'd always assumed he saw our marriage stretching out for years and years until we died, then moving onto the other side and continuing in heaven for eternity.  That's what I planned.

"I have no idea what life will be like ten years from now, and I don't really care," Sheldon told me.  "Let's just get through today and not worry about it."

Interesting.

Anyway, although I knew Sheldon would come to love the new baby just as much as he did the rest of the children, I suspected this was the last baby he was going to let me have.  It made me sad.  I'd always wanted to have a large family, at the very least six children like mom and dad, but I was happy I at least had five.  Compared to the rest of the world, five children would be considered a big family, wouldn't it?

The doctor assured me that the baby was due the end of October, which would be kind of fun, what with Halloween and everything, so I made my plans accordingly.  I was busy, so the time passed quickly.  Not only was I still babysitting to make extra money, we had also started our own little at home business.  Sheldon had lots of contacts in the printing and mailing world, and he had decided we could make a lot of money typing mailing labels.  Or, more actually, I could type the mailing labels,  Sheldon would just get the jobs and the money. 

It was tedious, time consuming work, though not particularly difficult.  I had been a fast, accurate typist, and although it was awhile since I had done much typing it came back to me.  Sheldon assured me I didn't have to be 100% perfect with the labels, he said the volume was much more important than the accuracy, so for a few weeks I tried to just type fast, ignoring the nagging voice in my head that told me I was pretty sure I'd just transposed a couple of letters, or hit a seven instead of a six.  That made the job a lot easier, but it made my conscience uneasy. 

One Sunday I taught a lesson on honesty, and it hit me that I wasn't being honest.  How could I tell my students, or my own children for that matter, that we were supposed to be honest in all things if I wasn't trying my hardest in my own life?

From that moment on I made a point of doing the best job I could on the mailing labels.  I can't tell you how many times I had to stop, go back a field, and check to make sure I had spelled a name right or typed an address correctly, but it sure did make me feel better.

One Saturday evening I had a big job to do, so Sheldon rented a movie for the kids and him to watch and I worked on labels.  About 11:00 I started having contractions, but it was just the end of September, and the baby wasn't due for another month.

"False labor is such a nuisance," I thought, as I finished working on the labels, sure the pains would go away soon.  I finished the labels at 11:30 and I went to bed, but I couldn't settle down because of the pains.  I'd originally thought this baby was supposed to be born the end of September, but my doctor had assured me over and over that I had figured wrong.  Still, by 12:00 I was wondering if he could possible be wrong?  The pains were really hurting, so I got up and walked around, thinking that would make them stop.  It didn't.

About 1:00 I was really in pain and the contractions were coming three minutes apart, so I decided to give myself until 1:30. If they didn't stop by then I was going to call the doctor.  By 1:15 I changed my mind. I couldn't wait any longer.  I woke Sheldon up, (I hadn't told him anything about the pains because I'd been so sure they were false labor) and told him we needed to go to the hospital, now! You should have seen his face. He pulled on some clothes and woke up the kids and we got them all in his truck.  We were going to drop them off at mom's on the way, but by that time I was really having a bad time, so we all went to the hospital.  (Sheldon didn't want to have to tell his boss that his wife had a baby in his brand new work truck.) 

When we got to the hospital we left the older kids in the camper and Sheldon pushed me, with one-year-old Alyssa on my lap, in a wheel chair into the lobby.  They checked me in while Sheldon drove the kids over to moms. 

I still was a little afraid that the nurses would tell me I wasn't ready to have this baby, but when they checked me they found I was fully dilated plus three, and all they needed was the doctor.  We got to the hospital at 1:40.  The doctor rushed over as fast as he could, and the baby was born at 2:00, exactly.  He would have come sooner if the doctor had been there.

Sheldon got back from taking the kids about five minutes after the baby was born.  He had gone over the speed limit the whole way, kind of hoping a policeman would stop him so he could tell him he was rushing to the hospital, but no one did. 

 I remember when the doctor said, "It's a boy," the first thing I thought was, "I've finally got my Stephen."  When my last little sister was born we had been so sure she would be a boy and named Stephen that mom and dad still hadn't come up with a name for her three days later when she came home from the hospital.  It seemed like I'd been waiting for a Stephen ever since, and I sure was glad to have him.  My second little boy, and my last.  I was surprised to have him so early, but it was a great surprise, and I loved him!