They did and I did, but to no avail. I could not locate anyone who was available to do carpool that afternoon. Having no alternative, I drove to the school myself, hoping to be in and out of there as quickly as possible. However, Murphy was apparently working overtime, and his Law was as true as ever. My third child’s class had gone swimming that afternoon at the JCC next door, and she had not yet gotten dressed in her school clothes, or even figured out where she had put them. So there I was, in the throes of advanced labor, gathering my kids and their belongings while trying to chat nonchalantly with the other parents. Not to mention driving to and from the school.
By the time I finally arrived home, spent and exhausted, my husband had already phoned a couple of times, but needless to say, had received no response. Instead, he had left a message on the answering machine which basically stated that since I was not at home, he assumed my labor had again weakened and I had felt up to doing carpool. In which case, his message concluded, he would be attending his scheduled university masters classes until 11:30 p.m. that night, as always.
Needless to say, I was fit to be tied. I had no way to reach him or get a message to him and I was home alone, in intense labor, with six kids to care for. I decided to grin and bear it, and wait it out as long as I could. In between contractions, I prepared and served dinner to the children, and went through the motions of the usual nightly routine.
At some point, it dawned on me that I had better somehow get myself to the hospital, or my kids were going to have a real live biology lesson they would never forget. I phoned the doctor, and he heartily confirmed my conclusion. As a last resort, I called the “yellow people,” our lovely non-frum neighbors who lived in the beautiful yellow house behind ours. They immediately sent someone to watch my kids and the Mom rushed over to drive me to the hospital.
By the time we got there, I had to stop walking and talking every minute or so, because the contractions were coming in rapid succession. My neighbor had two wonderful kids, but they had both been delivered by scheduled C-section, so she found my experience quite fascinating.
I somehow managed to get into the hospital reception area, but when I was peppered with a barrage of questions and forms, I firmly announced that I was ready to deliver, and was immediately escorted to a room. Within minutes, I had delivered a beautiful healthy baby boy, my smallest by far at just under six pounds. My darling neighbor was flabbergasted, and kept gushing about what a miracle it was.
Naturally, I was thrilled that I had made it in time, though just barely, and that I had, b”H, given birth to another healthy child. But, truth to tell, my main focus was on which torture would be most appropriate for my husband, for being AWOL and missing his son’s birth.
While I was still ruminating over the various options, in walked the avaryon himself, but he looked so guilty and apologetic, like a schoolboy caught red-handed, that I quickly forgave him. And together, we basked in the joy and wonder of this tiny but precious new neshama that Hashem had gifted us.