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Having a baby in 1961 was quite a different experience than today's birthing practices. Anesthesia was the preferred method for alleviating pain, and young mothers did not have enough assertiveness training to contradict their doctor's opinion on the matter. The procedure might have been less desirable than today's methods, but the resulting little human being was just as precious and equally a miracle. Following is my memory of my first experience:

In 1961, the word pregnant was still pretty much in the closet. If a woman was having a baby, she was "expecting". When asked, "What are you hoping for?" the only appropriate response was, "It doesn't matter, as long as it's healthy." Secretly, it mattered very much. The average family had 3.2 children, so there was always the opportunity to have a 'boy for you and a girl for me'. However, it was considered good fortune, indeed, if the first born was of the male persuasion. People were still naming their sons "junior" and men were delighted to have a "chip off the old block."

The feminist movement had not yet spread to the suburbs, so men and women were content to perform in their separate arenas. He, the provider, and mower of grass. She, the nurturer, and keeper of house. Against this backdrop, my husband and I began to weave our own tapestry of life. We were "expecting" for the first time.

About two weeks earlier than "D" day, at three o'clock in the morning, I awakened my husband to inform him I was going to take a shower and wash my hair. Considering the hour, he was immediately alert to the fact that good grooming was not the issue. In 2 minutes he was dressed and pacing in front of the bathroom door. "Hurry up," he said, in a tone suggesting he might just leave without me.

We sped along the route to the hospital, running red lights with wild abandon. We were to make this trip 4 more times over the years, and my husband never did get to fulfill his fantasy of full police escort with piercing sirens and carouseling red lights.

At the hospital we were taken to our separate areas, labor room to the right, father's waiting room to the left. The nurse said, "Say goodbye", so we said goodbye, not realizing the importance of the moment. We were a couple for the last time. We would reunite as a family.

The labor rooms were actually cubicles. I was the sixth expectant mother, said a Chatty Cathy doll dressed up like a nurse. The chatter, I'm sure was to distract me from the uncomfortable sounds coming from the other five

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