~and the baby she was carrying was me~

For some reason my mother entered my thoughts this afternoon.  It wasn't the usual things I most often think of when I remember the woman I called "Mom" for 52 years of my life.  Instead of thinking of her in her later years, the troubled ones at the nursing home where she died, I envisioned my mother 60 years ago today.  She sure would have looked different.  She would have been so much younger and so very much pregnant.

And the baby she was carrying was me.

I was the 6th child that she had given birth to and already by the time I was born on the 26th of October of 1955, Lois Scott already had 5 other kids ranging in age from 4 to 14.  By the standards of her day, 35 years of age might have been considered kind of risky to find yourself pregnant at.  That did not dissuade my mother in the least.  She told me once how much she loved having children and so I'm sure that if some "well meaning" doctor might have suggested that she not consider having any more children after her fifth one that she would have promptly fired that doctor and moved on to find a new one.  

Of this much I know.
I'm sure glad that they chose me to be born.

I can't even imagine how worn out and tired my mother must have been 60 years ago today.  Her belly must have been swollen beyond belief and I'm sure that I was extremely busy doing my last minute "gotta get this done before I'm born" kind of stuff.  My little elbows and the heels of my feet must have poked and jabbed her time and time again.  She had other kids to chase after too and with my father busy running the milk route for the Tip-Top Dairy at Moundridge, my mother must have been pretty occupied herself.  And even in all of that, she still had time to carry and deliver me.

My mother went into labor in the late afternoon of the 25th and that labor lasted well into the 26th day of October.  The doctor who was supposed to deliver me, the good Doc Schmidt, had unfortunately been at the country club all evening long over in Newton.  He'd been drinking and dancing with his wife and neglected to tell the hospital where to find him.  Mom was getting worried he would not make it in time but the Catholic Sister who had helped her so many times before told her not to fret.  

"Lois," Sister Marietta said, "We've been through this before 5 times together.  We really don't even need him anyway.  He just thinks we do."

At just the right moment in time, poor Doc Schmidt came whistling down the hallway acting as if nothing had happened.  I cannot imagine what my mother told him but knowing her it was not said with a smile on her face.  At 10:32 in the morning of the 26th, I arrived into this world. Doc Schmidt held me up by my ankles and gave me my first swat.  Mom said I was less than 6 pounds but was just fine.  They named me "Peggy Ann" after a family friend named Peggy Carter who lived in the nearby town of Sedgwick, Kansas.  When they brought me home five days later, it was to a farmhouse in western Harvey County nestled into the sandhills near Burrton.  

Our parents had another daughter, our little baby sister, two years after me.  I always marveled that even at age 37, Mom seemed healthy and strong.  Leastwise she was strong enough to go through it all again.  Three years later an eighth child would be conceived and even though Mom could not carry that little one to full term, she loved that baby anyways.  In Heaven,  all of the Scott kids have a little brother or sister and when we meet them face to face it will be a joyous time to be sure.  

I'm glad that I thought of her today and you know what?
Perhaps she was thinking of me too.
It could happen you know?

And the baby that she was carrying was me~

And the baby that she had grew up~