Babies Having Babies
Babies Having Babies
1962
One Sunday afternoon while Elliot is playing golf, Barbara stops by the Holmby Hills house. With her pocketbook still looped about her wrist, she stands in the kitchen, striking a defiant pose with one hand on her hip. Ruth’s not sure what’s coming. The last time Barbara unexpectedly turned up at the house, she and Allen had had a big argument. Over beef stroganoff. Apparently, he’d told her he didn’t want it for dinner, but she’d gone ahead and made it anyway. That’s the sort of thing—all it takes to poke a hole in the thin membrane of their marriage.
“I thought you might like to know,” says Barbara, still in her fighter stance, “that Allen and I are having a baby.”
Ruth looks at Barbara. She blinks. She lets out a soft jut of air as a marvelous thought comes to her: My baby is having a baby . It’s ninety degrees outside, and despite all those misgivings about her son-in-law, Ruth’s covered in goose bumps. Her eyes are misting over, too. For once, without having to make a conscious effort, she says and does all the right things. She embraces her daughter, congratulates her, asks how far along she is.
“I didn’t think you’d be this happy,” says Barbara, her voice suggesting she’s walking into a trap.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy? A baby’s a wonderful thing,” says Ruth, still smiling. “How are you feeling? Have you had any morning sickness?”
“Not a bit,” says Barbara.
Ruth gets the impression that even if Barbara was sick as a dog, she wouldn’t let on. “Well, be grateful. That’s miserable. And I don’t know why they call it morning sickness—it can hit you morning, noon or night.”
“Well, I’ve never felt better,” says Barbara.
Ruth doesn’t want this to become a battle of wills, so she tries a different approach, one of nostalgia. “I remember when I was pregnant with you. Your father and I were so excited. We couldn’t wait to meet you. And I just knew—I had a feeling—that you were a girl.”
“Was I an easy baby?”
“You?” Ruth laughs. “Hardly. Even before you were born, you started giving me a hard time,” she says teasingly. “And at one point you gave us a real scare.”
“What kind of scare?”
Ruth takes a breath, takes herself back to one of the most terrifying times of her life. “I was already pretty far along. It started with horrible cramps. And these weren’t like ordinary cramps. They were sharp, debilitating. And then I started bleeding. We couldn’t stop it.” She sees Barbara’s eyes grow wide. “My doctor put me on strict bed rest. All I could do was stay in bed for eight whole weeks, just waiting for you to arrive. So see”—Ruth laughs—“even back then you didn’t want me working.”
Barbara cracks a tight smile. “Were you on bed rest with Ken, too?”
“No, no. He was a different story. I should have known from the start how opposite you two would be. Ken was late. My belly was out to here”—she stretches her arms out as far as they will go. “You should have seen me waddling around, trying to get on the bus—”
“ You took a bus?” Barbara is incredulous.
“All the time back then. You’d ride it with me.”
Barbara goes quiet, reflective. So many things about her mother she didn’t know. After a moment she asks, “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”
“You kidding me? You’re a natural, kiddo.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve already seen you in action with Ken. You couldn’t wait to have a baby brother. You were good with him, too. Better than I was. You always wanted to hold him, give him his bottle. You even wanted to burp him. You weren’t too crazy about changing his diaper, though.”
Barbara is laughing now, her fingers delicately covering her mouth. It’s the first time Ruth’s seen her this relaxed in months. It’s like she’s forgotten that she’s supposed to be at odds with her mother, and Ruth is reminded of the sweet, loving Barbara she used to know.