Mid-September in the tropics brought the same warm weather as mid-October, or mid-August. The island seemed no different than any other day, and as the Skipper and Gilligan headed down to the lagoon to go fishing, MaryAnn and Ginger set to work on the weekly batch of laundry.

"Oh, look," whined GInger as she pulled her orange dress from the pile. "The stitching under the arms is starting to come loose again. Every time I wear this dress I have to sew it back up again!"

"Maybe you should chop the sleeves off," MaryAnn suggested.

"And look like a wrestler? I don't think so," said Ginger, frowning at the material. "I wish we'd find another box of costumes and dresses in the lagoon again. Or a box of anything really. It's been so quiet and dull around here."

"Just wait until tomorrow," MaryAnn said, grinning. "Well, or the next day. Or the next day."

Ginger smiled, but her expression contained a bit of the same worry that was ever-present with the Professor. "Right. That'll liven things up. No one will be bored for years."

"Especially us," MaryAnn added. "We'll have to start doing laundry every night to wash out the diapers."

"What fun," said Ginger, her expression displaying just how much fun she thought that would be.

MaryAnn only laughed and bent over to grab one of Mr. Howell's suits. "Oh!" She winced a little and straightened slowly, frowning.

"What is it? Is it the baby?" Ginger's voice was suddenly worried.

"No, no. I'm sure it was nothing," said MaryAnn. She reached for the jacket again, but then gasped. Her eyes grew wide.

"Uh, Ginger…?" MaryAnn gasped a second time, one hand shooting to her stomach. "I think my water's breaking. Right now." Her face split into a grin. "That means the baby's coming—today!"

Ginger did not look nearly as excited. Panicked was a more accurate descriptor. "Oh, oh, MaryAnn, honey, you just stay where you are. Don't move. Don't worry. Just breathe." She held out her hands, like she was afraid MaryAnn was about to collapse. "Please hang on! I…I'll tell Roy and we'll be right back."

"Tell who?" MaryAnn frowned for a second, then laughed a little. She'd never called Gilligan by his first name—she doubted he would even respond to 'William.' He'd probably glance over his shoulder, wondering who she was talking to. But she thought it was cute that Ginger was apparently on a first-name basis with her husband.

Right then, a wave of pain washed through MaryAnn's mid-section. Her laughter faded quickly, and she glanced at the older girl, a spike of fear starting to take root. "I…I'll be fine here. But yes, please get the Professor fast. And if you see Gilligan, will you tell him what's happening? He ought to know…"

"Sure," said Ginger, still watching MaryAnn anxiously. A thousand concerns were drifting through the actress' head. It didn't look like MaryAnn was about to keel over. It was probably okay to leave her momentarily.

With one last glance in her friend's direction, Ginger took off running, faster than she'd ever ran before.

And considering the wolfish producers she'd known in Hollywood…that was saying something.

Within twenty minutes, the whole island had jumped into action. Mr. and Mrs. Howell had even offered to boil water. Considering they'd never done that before, Ginger was a little fearful they'd hurt themselves. But Gilligan was busy gathering clean towels, and the Skipper was sanitizing everything he could think of, so everyone had something to do. Which was good. Sitting silent at such a time took far too much energy.

"Is there anything I should be doing?" MaryAnn asked. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking pale, but fine. "I mean…the contractions hurt, but in between them, I'm capable of doing something."

"Which is a very good thing," said the Professor. He was standing next to Ginger, his hands shaking a bit. "For now, you just need to focus on breathing and conserving your energy."

MaryAnn nodded, unable to audibly reply as another wave of pain hit.

There was a knock on the door and Gilligan timidly poked his head in the room. "Towel delivery?" He wasn't sure whether anyone wanted him in the room or not. Of course, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to be in the room or not, but at least he could drop off the towels.

"Hi Gilligan," Ginger greeted him at the door and took the cloth. "MaryAnn's doing fine so far."

"It's only been half an hour," MaryAnn pointed out, her teeth still a little clenched.

"I, well, just thought I'd…" Gilligan glanced at the tray of medical instruments the Skipper had sanitized for the Professor. "Gee…what is that for?" he pointed at the scalpel, feeling light-headed.

"It'll only be used to cut the umbilical cord…hopefully," said the Professor.

Gilligan glanced at the other man's serious face and then teetered on his feet.

"Oh, Gilligan!" MaryAnn cried as the first mate slumped over in a faint. Ginger managed to catch his upper body as he fell toward the floor.

The Professor rushed forward to help Ginger, but Gilligan was already out cold. MaryAnn could only shake her head and sigh.

Ginger sighed as well, then turned to her husband, exasperated. "You could've left out the 'hopefully!'"

"But it's true! I am hopeful that the scalpel will serve no other purpose today. A Cesarean section is possible, but much more dangerous without—"

Ginger clamped a hand over his mouth, shooting a quick look at MaryAnn. "Not another word. We don't want the patient fainting too."

MaryAnn rolled her eyes, thinking that her companions were far more likely to faint than she was. But neither of them said another word about anything going wrong, and as another contraction hit, MaryAnn had enough other things to occupy her mind.

Like…reminding herself to breathe.

Come quickly baby, she thought, once the pain finally ebbed. Let's get this over with.

Five hours later, the Skipper was pacing outside. On a normal night, it would've been dinnertime, but today, everyone was too anxious to eat. Or at least, the Skipper was too anxious to eat and no one else wanted to cook.

"How long are these things supposed to take?" asked Gilligan. He was also pacing, opposite the Skipper. Mr. and Mrs. Howell sat nearby, counting the laps.

"Oh, I've heard of women being in labor for days," said Mrs. Howell, waving a hand. "That's two-hundred and twenty-one, Captain. You're beating Gilligan!"

"Days?" Gilligan froze in place. For a moment, he felt light-headed again.

"Ignore her, Little Buddy," said the Skipper. "It can't possibly take days."

"Indeed it can!" Mr. Howell protested. "And no one ignores a Howell."

Gilligan frowned and continued his lap across the clearing. "But how will MaryAnn have time to eat or sleep if it takes days?"

"She…won't. Eat or sleep, that is," said the Skipper. He wrung his hands a little, then shook his head. "Oh, stop worrying. We all need to stop worrying. I'm sure it's going fine."

"That's right, Captain. Now you're at two-hundred and twenty-two."

"Pounds?" asked Gilligan. He seemed to be snapping out of his fearful look—at least long enough to tease the Skipper. "Just wait a few more laps, Mr. Howell. Then your guess will be correct."

"Gilligan!" growled the Skipper, shaking his head. Some days that kid had a death wish.

"I'm going to go see if Ginger will tell me anything," said Gilligan, shying away from the Skipper's hat. He hurried to the door and raised a hand to knock but then—

Everyone fell silent at the noise of sudden sobs. A woman was crying out and—

A high-pitched infant-wail suddenly joined her.

"Heavens to Fort Knox," breathed Mr. Howell. "That's a baby's cry! An actual baby…" He shook his head, like he'd never heard of such a thing.

Mrs. Howell jumped to her feet, clapping. The Skipper gaped, and Gilligan—

Gilligan had fainted again, but this time with a smile on his face.

Despite the Professor's fears, the baby had been born as smoothly as possible. A strong and healthy little boy had joined their island family. The Professor couldn't have been more thankful. While MaryAnn nursed her son, crying in happiness, the Professor reached for his own wife, smiling.

"Ginger, it…it was fine! That wasn't nearly as bad as I thought, and this means—"

"That I can do it too," she finished, also smiling in relief. She hugged him tightly, then began to frown a little. "When I have a baby, it's going to be much cuter," she whispered. "Did you see that boy's face?"

The Professor laughed into Ginger's hair. "My dear, all newborns look that way."

Ginger's frown deepened. "But our child won't. All newborns don't have me as their mother."

The Professor didn't bother arguing. He walked over to MaryAnn's bedside, pulling Ginger along with him. "Congratulations again, MaryAnn. You did wonderfully."

"Oh, yes." Ginger agreed, crouching down by her friend. "Does he have a name?"

MaryAnn couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Yes. Gilligan and I picked out a boy's name already. But…can the others come in now? I want everyone to hear his name."

"Of course," said Ginger. She helped MaryAnn readjust her dress while the Professor opened the door and waved everyone inside. Gilligan was the first in line. He sank to his knees in the sand by MaryAnn's bed and started laughing.

"It's a baby! You had a baby. We had a baby. A real baby."

MaryAnn laughed as well, passing the child to its father.

"Please don't drop him, Gilligan," Ginger couldn't help but say.

"He?" The Skipper paused in the doorway. "It's a boy?"

"HA! Yes, Lovey, I won the bet!" Mr. Howell stomped his feet in glee. "But of course, I did. I'm Thurston Howell the Third, after all."

"And everyone, we decided that we're naming the baby Jonas," MaryAnn announced. "Joe for short." She beamed at the Skipper. "In honor of Jonas' wonderful godfather."

The Skipper froze in place as everyone smiled at him. Gilligan still had the baby in his arms, but he walked up beside the Skipper, grinning from ear-to-ear. "It's a good name, huh? You want to hold him?"

"Why, yes, I—" The Skipper couldn't say anything else. He started crying, thinking that he'd never been so happy in all his life.

Little Jonas was quickly the star of the island. Everyone loved to take turns holding him and dressing him and playing with him—unless he was crying of course. During those fits of wailing, Jonas was rapidly returned to his mother. Or the Skipper.

The sea captain seemed to gain a new light in his eyes every time the baby so much as looked at him.

"My Littlest Buddy," he would murmur. On several occasions, MaryAnn had almost cried watching them. She was so thankful for her wonderful island family; so thankful they all doted on her and her son.

And of course, none more so than Gilligan. He went above and beyond to make sure she had plenty of time to rest. He'd even been volunteering to take Jonas on 'morning walks,' so that MaryAnn could sleep in extra after her interrupted nights. Of course, MaryAnn knew that Gilligan also woke up each time Jonas was hungry, but her husband didn't seem to mind getting up early anyway. He was insistent that her rest was far more important.

Unfortunately, everyone on the island was experiencing some level of interrupted rest. Jonas certainly had strong lungs, and whenever he started crying, hut walls didn't exactly shelter anyone from his sonic baby wails. MaryAnn frequently started the day off with apologies to everyone at the breakfast table. The previous night Jonas had been particularly loud, and she felt guilty over her companions' tired faces.

"I'm so sorry everyone. I tried to calm him down, but—" MaryAnn trailed off, not sure what else she could say.

"It's not your fault, MaryAnn," said Ginger, rubbing her eyes. "Who needs sleep anyway?"

"Speak for yourself," Mr. Howell replied. "I'm going to have to start extending my afternoon siestas."

"The baby should start sleeping through the nights within a month or two," said the Professor. "This is only temporary."

"Until the next baby. And the next," said Mrs. Howell. She covered a yawn with her hand, then shook her head worriedly. "We may never have a full night's sleep again!"

"Perhaps we should consider real estate farther down the coast," mused Mr. Howell, frowning.

"Nonsense." The Skipper was almost horrified at that suggestion. Life wouldn't be the same if everyone started moving to their own sections of the island! "You all heard the Professor. This is only temporary. We all want to be a part of Joe's life; the least we can do is quit complaining about him every morning." The Skipper made sure to stare at both of the Howells the longest. "With the exception of MaryAnn and Gilligan, none of us have ever been parents…and maybe this is our chance to experience what it's like! Maybe it'll give us a lesson in gratitude for our own fathers and mothers."

"Captain, if you think I'm not grateful for my old man, you know nothing about me," sniffed Mr. Howell, patting his money belt.

The Professor ignored Mr. Howell and nodded to the Skipper. "Well said. We need to stick together. We're all responsible for Jonas. He's just as much a part of our group as anyone else."

"Speaking of which, where is the little lad?" Mrs. Howell asked, holding up her spectacles. "I don't see him anywhere."

"He's with Gilligan," MaryAnn answered quickly. "I…I hope."

Just as a spike of worry coursed through her, Gilligan emerged from around the corner, carrying Jonas and grinning.

"Hi everybody. Joe and I were watching the monkeys over by the caves. They got into a big fight over a banana, and I made sure Joe knew that sharing is better than fighting. Right, Joe?"

The infant cooed on command, and as Gilligan proudly smiled at the baby, MaryAnn felt something very odd shift in her heart.

Jonas also belonged to Gilligan, and she was suddenly glad of that. They were both her family. And though she loved her son effortlessly… She loved Gilligan too. She couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather be married to. He was such a good man and a wonderful father. And he didn't even have to try!

As he made eye contact with MaryAnn, she found herself smiling through tears.

Without having to change a single thing about himself, Gilligan had stolen her heart after all.

As usual, the Professor was right. Within a month, Jonas began sleeping through the night and there was never again a word spoken about moving. Mr. and Mrs. Howell spent long hours entertaining the little boy—when he wasn't being held by one of the others. Gilligan had jokingly suggested that Jonas needed a social calendar because so many people always wanted meetings with him—and for once, Gilligan wasn't wrong.

When Jonas began smiling, Ginger announced that he was the cutest baby in the world—for the moment. She liked to carry him around while she did chores, claiming that she needed practice at holding a baby properly before she could have a baby of her own.

MaryAnn obviously wanted Jonas with her as much as possible, and when he said his first word, 'Mama,' MaryAnn hadn't wanted to surrender him to anyone, not even Gilligan.

Gilligan still took 'Joe' on walks every morning, and then after breakfast, the Skipper usually claimed his Littlest Buddy and would play with him until Jonas' naptime. When Jonas took his first step, it was during one of his mornings with the Skipper. The man had started crying again and everyone had come running to see what was wrong.

And then of course, the Professor was always wanting to check on Jonas' health and mental development. He liked to give Jonas colored rocks and see if the baby could determine one shade from another. Despite being Gilligan's son, Jonas was passing all his tests with flying colors.

He was growing up just fine, and everyone was very proud.

A few weeks before Jonas' first birthday, Mr. and Mrs. Howell were explaining party-plans to all the others.

"A baby's first birthday is a milestone occasion," Mrs. Howell prefaced. "We ought to have gifts and a meal and maybe invite someone to give a speech? It's too bad the Countess of Vienna is gone. Remember Thurston? We always said that she gave the best speeches!"

"Yes, darling, but perhaps we can make do with the Captain for this occasion."

"Why, sure!" The Skipper took off his hat, smiling proudly. "I'd be honored to say a few words."

"All right. Now that the speaker is booked, what about beverages?" Mr. Howell asked. "I know I still have a bottle of brandy somewhere…"

"You can't give a baby alcohol, Mr. Howell!" scolded MaryAnn. "Yes, Jonas is now eating mashed fruits and tiny bites of fish, but he's not an adult."

"Brandy for the baby?" Mr. Howell looked almost affronted. "Good heavens, the brandy's for us! As our little 'pat-on-the-back' for surviving the year."

"I don't really like brandy," Gilligan mumbled. "It smells like alcohol."

While Mr. Howell gaped at the first mate, MaryAnn shook her head as well. "Sorry, Mr. Howell. I'm not drinking." She ducked her head a little, then gave her husband a quick nod. "Gilligan…well, he's been begging to share some news with you all. I suppose now's as good a time as any."

"Yes," Gilligan said, practically jumping to his feet. He tipped his head proudly. "MaryAnn and I are having another baby!" He took a deep breath, looking relieved. "There. Now you all know the secret and I didn't spoil anything."

Once again, the whole table exploded in surprised congratulations. Jonas stirred in his cradle nearby, but didn't seem to realize anything important was taking place.

"Oh my! A first birthday party and another baby shower, all within the year," Mrs. Howell waved her hands excitedly. "What an exciting time to be shipwrecked."

"I'm so happy for you," Ginger gushed, jumping up to hug MaryAnn. "Two babies…" Her voice trailed off, but she continued smiling. MaryAnn grinned as well, glad her friend didn't seem upset. She had hesitated in telling everyone immediately, actually worrying that the news would make Ginger jealous.

"Fortunately I know what to expect this time around," MaryAnn started. "And we already have diapers and baby clothes, so there won't be nearly as much to prepare for." She caught sight of the Professor's concerned look over Ginger's shoulder. "Even delivery should be easier with a second baby. And since the first wasn't even too bad…"

"Yes, that's true," he affirmed, sounding a bit distracted. "Congratulations MaryAnn. And Gilligan. This is exciting news."

"Boy, is it ever!" said the Skipper. He took off his hat and hugged both the parents.

"And the baby will be a girl this time," Mrs. Howell insisted. "My Hungarian rose silks are waiting!"

MaryAnn laughed, then glanced toward Jonas, who was still asleep in his cradle. She didn't think her love for her family could grow any bigger, but it already was. With each passing day, life seemed to be getting more wonderful.

Which of course was a strange observation, considering her current life had started when all other civilized life had ended.

When party-planning was finally over, Ginger practically fled the happy scene. How was it possible that MaryAnn and Gilligan were already expecting a second child? It…it was all just so unfair!

Ginger collapsed on the bed, trying to muffle her sobs in the blankets. She had used every acting skill she'd ever possessed just to make it through the rest of dinner without crying. If she had acted the way she really felt—jealous and distraught—that surely would've made MaryAnn feel bad. As upset as Ginger was, MaryAnn was still her best friend; it wasn't the girl's fault for having babies easily.

But why? Why oh why couldn't she also share in her good fortune?

Above her crying, Ginger heard the creaking noise of the hut door; it was followed by familiar footsteps and she sighed, trying to compose herself.

"Please…please don't say anything," Ginger sniffed. She let her hair hang in front of her eyes, sure that her makeup was quite the sight. "Please just let me be upset."

The Professor raised his eyebrows, but then nodded. "All right." His shoulders slumped as he sat down beside her. There was no hopeful quip, no complicated answer… Ginger figured he had to be nearly as upset as she was.

She wiped away her smeared eye makeup and sat up, making the small cot creak a little as she scooted closer to her husband.

"You're worried, aren't you? You're worried that something's actually wrong with me." Ginger's tone was flat, but she didn't have the energy to fake more emotions.

The Professor turned his head a little, facing her with a frown. "Dear…at this point, something could be wrong with me as well. Either one of us could be unknowingly sterile. And if that is the case…"

"Then everything's ruined," Ginger whispered. She stared at the ground, making note of each indentation in the sand.

"I'm afraid so," said the Professor. "Instead of worrying about the gene pool issue when our grandchildren are grown, Jonas and his future siblings will already face such challenges. There won't be any potential mates on the island; we'll have to find a way to make peaceful contact with one of the nearby tribes…"

"And not only that, I'll never get to have a baby," moaned Ginger. She buried her face in her hands and started crying again.

The Professor hated to cause her grief. In the back of his mind, he was fearful that it really was his fault…somehow. And if that was the case, then he was letting her down; failing her—and everyone else. He rubbed his forehead, trying to think. Surely there had to be a way of checking fertility… The subject was so far from his area of expertise that the Professor wasn't honestly sure how to begin such a test. And without laboratories or specialized equipment, any results would be fraught with potential inaccuracy.

Of course, ignorance also left the possibility of hope…

The Professor glanced at his distraught wife and sighed. It had only been two years. Plenty of couples spent much longer trying for children—and eventually succeeded. Assuming both he and Ginger were genetically capable of conceiving a child, there was nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately, a faint hope didn't make it any easier to walk outside and listen to the Howells discuss a second baby-shower. Even just seeing Jonas was a daily occurrence. They were surrounded by constant reminders of what they were lacking.

"It's okay to be upset, Ginger," the Professor finally said, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders. "Just…don't give up yet."

"I won't if you won't," she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "But I'm still going to cry myself to sleep tonight. Just because I feel like it."

"Okay," the Professor said again. He didn't try to stop her tears. He didn't try to offer her statistical encouragements. He just pulled the actress closer, hoping she knew she wasn't alone.