Saturday, October 21, 1978

"Do you think she's warm enough?" I asked Al as I adjusted the blanket around Theresa Marie's small month-old form. Outside, it was a scorcher, and to compensate, we had the air conditioner running. I worried about our newest baby, especially after how traumatic the pregnancy had turned out to be.

"She looks comfortable to me," Al said, and then grinned wickedly. "Then again, I'd be comfortable if that's where I was right now." He indicated our daughter, who was nursing hungrily at my breast.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. "You're hopeless," I grinned.

"Hopelessly devoted to you," he sang and I laughed.

"Your daddy is so silly," I told Theresa, "isn't he?" She actually paused in her suckling long enough to look at me before resuming her meal. I laughed again. "She agrees with me, Al."

"I think she was arguing with you."

"Were you arguing with me, baby girl? I don't think so. I think your daddy's being silly again."

"Daddy! Silly Daddy!" said Michele, who'd just toddled into the room.

"Someone's up from their nap," I said.

"They're ganging up on me! Outnumbered by girls," Al grinned, clapping his hands together and beckoning Michele to him.

She beamed at Al and walked towards him, her arms reaching up to be held. "Hold me, Daddy!"

"What's the magic word?" Al said.

"Peas!"

"Okay," he said, unable to keep the grin off his face at her pronunciation, and he bent to lift her into his arms. Michele planted a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek and reached to rub his earlobe. Al looked at me. "What is it with this one and ears? Careful, Sheli," he added, as she bent his ear down in half and a small finger slipped inside his ear canal. He reached up to free his ear and guided her fingers back to the lobe. "Stick to the lobes, sweetie, okay?"

"'Kay," she said, affably rubbing his earlobe again, resting her head against his shoulder. "Love Daddy."

"I love you, too," he said.

Bridget came in, dragging her nap blanket behind her, and she stopped in the center of the room, dismayed to see me occupied with nursing Theresa and Al holding Michele.

"I want hold me!" she complained.

"I'll hold you as soon as I finish feeding Theresa," I told her.

"Now."

"No, Bree. I can't right now."

"Peas?" she begged, drawing close and pushing at Theresa. Protesting the unwanted jostling, Theresa released and started crying.

"Bree, Mommy said no," Al said, coming over and taking Bridget's hand to lead her away from me. "And don't shove the baby."

"I not like the baby," pouted Bridget.

"Oh, Bree, don't say that, honey," I said, soothing Theresa and guiding her back to my breast for her to latch on. The crying stopped and eager sucking noises soon followed.

"I not like her," Bree insisted. "Always be quiet cuz the baby sleep. No hold me cuz the baby eat." She started to cry, "Mommy loves baby more'n me."

"That's not true, Bridget," I said. "I love you all the same."

"Why baby not go back in tummy, Mommy?"

Al pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the question, though his eyes displayed his concern at Bridget's feelings of being left out. He sat down and shifted Michele over, helping Bridget onto the sofa to sit with them.

"It doesn't work that way, Bridget," he explained. "Once it's time for babies to come out, they're out for good." He brushed her hair back behind her ear and gently wiped tears off her cheeks. "In a few months, Theresa won't need Mommy quite as much as she does right now. And a few more months after that, she'll be big enough to play with you."

"But I want hold me now!"

Al and I exchanged helpless looks. It was one thing trying to teach the girls to share their toys. It was another teaching them to share us.

"How would you girls like to play horsey?" Al finally suggested. Michele was instantly agreeable, but it took Bridget a few moments of thought to reluctantly decide that horsey was better than not being held at all. Al settled one girl on each leg and then dutifully began bouncing them.

Theresa's suckling gradually slowed and her little eyelids stared to slide downward. I gently disengaged her mouth and adjusted my nursing bra and shirt with one hand before tossing the burping cloth over my shoulder and lifting her to begin patting her back. After a few minutes she burped and spit up a bit. I dabbed at her mouth and cradled her in my arms, rocking back and forth until she fell asleep.

"She's out," I smiled at Al, who was just starting to show signs of weariness from jostling the girls. They giggled gleefully as he bounced his legs alternately so that they moved counter to each other.

I got up and put Theresa down in the bassinet, then walked to the sofa, where I perched on the arm of it near Al and watched as he "brought the horses back to the stable."

"More! More!" Michele cheered.

"Nah, this old nag's had enough for now," said Al.

Bridget looked at me and asked hopefully, "Hold me?"

"Yes, baby, I can hold you now."

She slid off her father's leg and hurried to me, stretching her arms up. I bent and lifted her into an embrace, kissing her as soon as I got her settled.

"I love you, Bridget. Thank you for being patient." I tickled her cheek. "Daddy's right, you know. Theresa won't be a baby forever."

Al had adjusted Michele on his lap and he kissed her cheek as he looked up at me. "It seems like yesterday that the twins were newborns, doesn't it?"

I nodded, blinking away a sudden sheen of tears at the thought of how quickly they were getting older. The sound of Rick and Sally's door slamming open shortly followed by the revving of an engine caught my attention. Al and I both rose and moved to the window, still carrying the twins, to see Rick dashing to the running car with a suitcase, which got haphazardly tossed in the backseat before he took off for the house at a clip again.

"Must be time," I said to Al. He nodded, and we both walked outside just as Rick was shakily escorting Sally down the front porch steps.

"Looks like I'm following your lead, Beth," Sally said bravely. "Baby's decided to come a bit early like the twins did. Dr. Roberts told me the other day it could be anytime."

"You'll do fine," I assured her.

"I hope so," she answered shakily, and I knew she was probably remembering my labor for the twins.

"Sally, you're going to have an epidural…I didn't, remember?"

Relief flooded over her face and she nodded.

"Rick, don't forget to breathe," Al advised. "And…stay by Sally's side. Don't go look at the other end. Trust me on that one." He pointed to a thin pink line on his forehead. During Theresa's delivery, Dr. Winter had invited Al to step to the foot of the bed to witness her being born. At his first sight all the color had fled from his face and he'd fainted, cracking his head on a cabinet as he fell.

"Yes, listen to Al," I agreed. "They completely forgot all about me for a minute there, thanks to Mr. Squeamish."

"Who Mr. Skweemiss?" Bridget asked.

"Tell you in a minute, honey," I said. "Call us when the baby's here, okay?"

"Okay," Sally said. "Ohhhhh…."

"Gotta go!" Rick said, helping her into the car. He dashed around to the driver's side and backed out of the driveway, turning on the lights and siren of his police cruiser.

"Well, now that's a perk I wish I'd had when we were getting you to the hospital this time!" Al commented.

"I'll make sure the next one waits until Rick's home, how's that?" I smirked.

"Who Mr. Skweemiss?" Bridget repeated, now that our friends were gone.

I grinned at Al. "You want to field this one, honey?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Certainly not as long as you've got that, er, mark of honor showing," I giggled. I hurried back inside with Bridget, still sniggering as I checked on Theresa, who was sleeping soundly.

"Doesn't she look like an angel, Bree? You looked like that when you were her size."

"I did?"

"Would you like to see pictures?"

She nodded emphatically, and I put her down on the sofa while I walked to the shelf to get the album with their baby photographs in it. I sat next to her and put her in my lap before opening the album. Al and Michele came in and sat down beside us.

"What's this?" Al asked.

"I'm showing Bree their baby pictures."

"That us?" Michele asked, amazed, as she saw a picture of me in a wheelchair holding one baby in each arm.

"Yes, it is. This is you, Sheli, and Bree, you're here. That's the day we brought you home from the hospital."

We turned the page and Al started laughing, "I forgot about this one!"

In the photograph, taken while my mother had been in town to help after the twins were born, Al was asleep in an armchair, a small bottle dangling from his hand while a grumpy baby stared at the camera from her place snuggled against his bare chest.

"Who that?" Bridget asked.

I studied the picture. "I think it's you, Bridget."

She crinkled her eyebrows as she leaned back and regarded the picture. "I not 'member that."

"Of course you don't, honey," Al said. "Babies don't really make memories like big girls do."

"I 'member baby stuff," Michele argued. "I 'member lots."

Al seemed about to argue the point with her before finally laughing and turning to the photo album. "Oh, look…it's your first bath."

Mom had still been with us, so she'd gotten a shot of me and Al nervously washing the girls in infant tubs in the kitchen sink. We looked scared to death.

"Why we in the sink?" asked Michele.

"Because you were too little for the bathtub," I said. "Theresa's first bath was in the sink, too."

"Look! Nana!"

"Yes. Poor Papa…Nana stayed almost a month when you two were born. She only stayed a couple of weeks for Theresa."

"I miss Nana," Bridget said.

"So do I. But we'll see her and Papa at Thanksgiving. And we'll see Aunt Janie and Uncle Frank and your cousin Glenn. He must be nearly a year old now."

"Hope he looks more like Janie and less like Frank now," Al muttered.

I swatted his shoulder. "Behave yourself. You're setting a bad example."

"Can I help it if your sister doesn't have your good taste? I mean, you have to admit Frank does look a lot like a bulldog."

"Uncle Frank doggie?" Bridget asked. She giggled.

Michele joined in, "Uncle Frank doggie! Uncle Frank doggie! Uncle Doggie!" They dissolved into laughter.

"Now you've done it," I said. "It's your job to get them to forget that before Thanksgiving."

Al looked to the ceiling. "Why do they pick up on the things you don't want them to?"

"Uncle Doggie!" The twins laughed so loud they woke Theresa. Her shrill wails filled the room.

"Picture time's over," I announced, carefully closing the book and passing it to Al. "I probably need to change Theresa's diaper." I eased Bridget to the floor, kissing her forehead before I got up.

"Early talkers obviously become early snitchers," Al said, reaching out to tickle Bridget with one hand while he tickled Michele with the other.

Theresa stopped crying when I picked her up, and I checked her diaper to feel that it was wet. "We'll be back," I said.

"Mommy, wait," said Bridget, wiggling out of Al's reach.

"What is it, honey?"

"Kiss baby?"

"You want to kiss Theresa?" I clarified.

She nodded. I knelt and Bridget leaned close to gently kiss her baby sister's cheek. "Love Resa," she said.