Don't get pregnant if you live in Blanding, Utah
So, how can I tell you about birthin' one baby and not tell of the others? Don't
want anyone feeling left out, but by the same token, do you really cares? I
expect all mothers (like grandmothers and their grandbabies) do. If nothing
else, it will make good conversation around the coffee table and bring about a
lot of "remember whens."
I've told you about one of the boys' birth, so I'll
tell about Sindi. I was so young and so naive, I firmly believed that if I
didn't go to a doctor until time for delivery, I would not have to be "checked."
Surely he could tell by looking at an eight-months-along woman that she was
pregnant ... just take my word for it, if you will. Didn't happen that way at
all. I got the whole 9 yards.
It was in Utah and every Thursday was "baby day." The
good doctor saw no one else but pregnant women on Thursdays. We were a beautiful
lot. We all wore the pants with the hole cut out for the stomach; (pre
pregnant-panel days) and the tie strings that always hung below the big trapeze
top
that was longer in the back than in the front. Three of us were due the
same day. Why didn't they just make the tops longer you ask? Beats me.
There was this little mother-to-be who moved to town
and lived not too far from us as she was also an
"alien" (non-Mormon) and us "aliens" stuck together just like self-respecting
good aliens still do today. She was a gorgeous 90-pound blonde who refused to
dress as the other preggies did. It was summer and it was hot. She had several
elastic waistband skirts, which she wore with the waistband under her armpits.
Looked pretty darned cute, too ... and, they were long enough!
In the meantime, the good doctor and I made a trial run
up over the mountain to Monticello where the hospital was. People didn't drive
around with a can of pop in their hands in those days, but he did keep his flask
in the glove box. It did not smell like Nesbitts Orange or Strawberry to me.
That was interesting and somewhat disturbing to me.
Since I have a tendency to be a little impatient, I had
to help the delivery date a little ... it was too
hot and I was 'tard of hauling around the extra load. Mr. Castor oil and I got
together and made plans that worked like a charm only we overlooked one thing
... Ed was at work and of course, it was his day to drive, so now I'm ready, but
I'm afoot!
To shorten this somewhat, I managed to get to a friends
house who got her neighbors to take me to the hospital. The lady was due to
deliver and I was 20 minutes away from delivery on a 30 minute
drive. She was hanging over the backseat screaming "suck in!" and in the same
voice screaming at her
epileptic husband to make sure he was doing alright and did he need a pill to
keep from going into an
epileptic seizure. He floor-boarded the car up over the mountain and we
pulled into the emergency room drive with the rods knocking and the radiator
screaming for release. As I fly (on a gurney) past the clock on the wall en
route to delivery, it read 7 straight up. Miss Sindi was born at 7:05. At 7:30
we were ready to go home!
Ed came to get us the next day, but didn't seem to be
in any hurry to leave. Finally, he said he'd better tell me Donn had been "kind
of' run over!" He was okay, but not to get excited when I saw all of the
quarter-size black and blue marks all over him. I grabbed the baby and ran down
the hall and out the door we went.
Do you see what happened here? I did not check in, nor
did I check out. Never had time coming
or going! The next morning, at home, the egg lady came to deliver the eggs and
was surprised to see a baby. Then she asked what her name was and it was then
that I realized she didn't even have a name! A
hastened letter to the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Salt Lake City remedied the
situation.
Is this the kind of things "airheads" do? But, I'm a
natural
brunette!
The moral of this story?
Get all of your ducks in a row before you take that swig of castor oil!