Lucy struggled to get Virgil to breast feed. So it wasn't a surprise when, five months after our third son was born, I found a note from 'Scott, John, Virgil and Baby'. I looked to my wife with a question in my eyes and she briefly nodded. Actually no. I was totally surprised. How were we gong to cope with four children under the age of six?

I tried not letting on my fears about how we could cope, but I don't think I fooled Lucy. We'd been married nearly five and a half years, and had known each other far longer, so she knew me pretty well.

"What is it, Jeff? I thought you loved being a dad."

"I do. I love our boys." I paused and then turned to look at her. We were in our room, settling in for the night. I gave her a shaky smile. "Don't think of me as a sap hon, but I don't want our sons to steal any more of my heart away from you."

Lucy laughed and curled into my side. "I doubt they'd steal you away from me. And I don't mind sharing." She looked up at me with that adoring smile of hers and I wrapped my arms around her. "As long as you don't mind sharing my heart with them."

I grinned down at her and kissed her forehead. "I promise I won't get jealous of our boys."

But there was something nagging me at the back of my mind all through Lucy's fourth pregnancy. Scott was overjoyed to be getting another little brother (or my hope of a little girl), and John was beginning to see that being a big brother wasn't all that bad. We didn't ask Virgil's opinion as there wouldn't be much age difference between him and the next child.

I wasn't there when Lucy was rushed into hospital nearly six and a half weeks before her due date. Mother went to stay with our three boys and was worriedly keeping me informed about what was happening. Lucy had contracted a viral infection and because she was pregnant had to be rushed into hospital for antibiotics. The doctors wanted to make sure she and the baby were going to be fine. At the time, I had a big conference in Chicago I couldn't get out of so I was stuck away from my wife and family. Those few days of that conference where some of the toughest of my life.

When I eventually made it back to Kansas City three days after Lucy's terrified call, the doctors had induced labor and my wife had given birth to another little boy. I rushed into the hospital (not even making a detour home) to see how Luce was doing. She looked so weak and small in the hospital bed, hooked up to all those machines. I didn't know what to do.

I sat with her for a while before I had to leave. There was something about seeing her like that that caused me to blame myself. If I hadn't gotten Lucy pregnant again, then she wouldn't be fighting for her life in that hospital bed and I wouldn't risk nearly losing her.

I made my way into the nearby waiting room and ran my hands over my face. As I was pacing, I realized I had three boys at home and Mother who would be worried about me and Lucy. Pulling out my phone, I placed a call home. It was during that conversation that Mother raised the issue about the little boy Lucy had brought into the world six weeks early. I hung up the phone and took in a shuddering breath. What about the baby? It hadn't even crossed my mind.

I made my way to the main desk in the maternity ward. Wiping my eyes, I asked the nurse where I could find Baby Tracy. The nurse looked at me sympathetically and asked if I was the father. I mutely nodded my head and followed her into the NICU. Before entering, I had to wash up well to even be admitted into the ward.

Gordon Cooper was the only baby in the room and in an incubator. I swallowed and took a shaky step toward the incubator. Gordon was so tiny and I felt my heart constrict. My little boy was fighting to survive just as his mother was just down the hallway. I looked up at the nurse with a question in my eyes. I wanted to be able to touch my small son and was wondering if it would be alright. She nodded at me. I reached out and ran my fingers over the small lock of hair my little boy had. And again, I felt my heart melt and a part of it now belonged with the small ginger haired boy.

No matter what was going to happen, I laid my hand on my son's tiny chest and somehow found the strength to go on. Somehow, I was sure things would get better. They just had to be.

I took both my wife and son home nearly six weeks later, both were on the mend. The whole family were relieved, none more so than me.