Big Decisions (22 page)

No one knew, though, quite how happy Lizzie actually was. All those weeks of anticipation and waiting until Stephen was ready to seed the lawn had been very hard for her. She wanted things done right away without waiting four weeks. But now here they were on a warm, balmy evening with their very own lawn properly seeded. Lizzie was quite confident she would have a beautiful lawn by the next spring.

She chewed happily, smiling at Leah, who was a petite, tiny woman, about eight years older than Lizzie. She was indeed a good friend, giving Lizzie advice about different things, including how to get along with your husband, which Lizzie really appreciated. Lizzie was a bit dubious about being the willing servant that Leah talked about, but it was something to think upon, especially the part about never grumbling or nagging, which was very hard for her.

What other way was there if you wanted something done? Especially if you wanted it done now and not two months later? Oh, well, tonight nothing mattered except the friendship of these two kind and helpful people, Dat and Mam and Jason, and the fact that, finally, at long last, they had a lawn. Now for the shrubs.

L
IZZIE WAS ENJOYING A
dish of strawberry ice cream while sitting at a picnic table in the park with her friend, Julie, who she worked with while grading eggs. Suddenly, the ice cream tasted like Pepto-Bismol and the succulent strawberries took on a shiny, grainy quality that turned her stomach. Waves of nausea rippled up her throat, and she looked over at Julie, a bit wild-eyed.

“I don’t feel one bit well,” Lizzie said shakily.

Julie raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not expecting a baby, are we?”

“No,” Lizzie said firmly. “It has to be a bug.”

“Oh, but Lizzie, some bugs turn into a serious malady called pregnancy.”

“I know, Mam told me that.”

Lizzie was a bit miffed, sitting there feeling so terribly sick and miserable, the ice cream melting in it’s Styrofoam dish and sliding farther and farther down her lap as she held it in her nerveless fingers. Julie didn’t have to talk to her in those condescending tones, as if she was only 12 years old.

The ride home was pure torture. Lizzie was humiliated beyond words when the movement of the car made her so dizzy that the strawberry ice cream churned in her stomach. She had no choice but to ask Julie to please pull over and stop as soon as she could. When the car came to a stop, Lizzie opened the door, lurched into the deep weeds at the side of the road, and threw up the strawberry ice cream.

“Oh, dear, I am so embarrassed,” she said, as she climbed back into the car.

“It’s all right, Lizzie. There’s a bug going around.”

Lizzie glared at her friend, and they both burst out laughing.

Julie was right. Lizzie and Stephen were ecstatic to find out they would be parents. Stephen smiled everywhere he went—to work, to church, to visit his parents—which only increased Lizzie’s own anticipation.

Mam smiled and nodded when Lizzie told her the news. They discussed babies, mother, hospitals, doctors, buying baby clothes, just everything. Mam told her in a serious sort of way that having a baby wasn’t easy.

Lizzie took this to heart, although she told Stephen she could handle her pregnancy just fine. She was tough. She could work as hard as he did, well, almost, and she was healthy, robust, and certainly not weak or skinny.

The weight gain began then, which was a constant source of frustration for Lizzie. The doctor told her 25 to 30 pounds was ideal, and she was determined to stay within those boundaries. At first, it was easy. Foods that were ordinarily delicious turned into vile, unappetizing concoctions that propelled her in the direction of the bathroom, and she threw up almost anything she ate.

Saltines and ginger ale. Pepsi. Ginger tea. Dry toast. Pretzels. It all came back up. Just when she thought she must surely die, unfairly, at a young age, she noticed that the smell of vegetable soup was no longer quite as nauseating. She could eat cheese sandwiches with mustard, which perked her up considerably.

After her nausea passed, her appetite came roaring back. She wanted to eat everything she saw, from the time she got up until she went to bed. She baked whoopie pies, wrapped them individually in plastic wrap, and kept eating them just about all day.

The thing about whoopie pies is that they stick to the plastic wrap in chocolaty layers, and when you pull the wrap away, the part underneath is so soft and good and so close to the creamy white frosting that you take one big bite after another, and before you know it, it’s all gone and you want another one.

Lizzie faithfully swallowed her prenatal vitamins, ate healthy foods—orange juice, peas, tomatoes, peaches, and corn—as well as whoopie pies. She went to visit her doctor regularly and immensely enjoyed all the attention she received. Emma and Mandy were overjoyed that Lizzie and Stephen would soon be parents. So much joy, Lizzie thought, as she headed to the hospital with Stephen the night her labor started. I just can’t wait for this baby.

Hours later, Lizzie was startled by a strange sound in the hallway, waking instantly when she realized where she was and why she was not at home in the little house on top of the hill. She and Stephen were parents now. She had given birth to a little girl the morning before at the hospital in Cedar Falls.

The baby, her baby, weighed seven pounds and one ounce, a perfect miracle, with a deeply tanned complexion, almost as if she had been lying in the sun before she was born. Her eyes were blue, her nose was only a little bump—not really a nose yet—and her mouth was small and perfect. Lizzie was thrilled and very, very scared of this little human being that she was suddenly responsible for forever.

They hadn’t decided on a name. Lizzie had informed Stephen quite early that if the baby was a girl, she would name her Laura for Laura Ingalls Wilder, the heroine of Lizzie’s life. Stephen didn’t say no or yes. He just smiled and didn’t make a comment at all, but Lizzie figured his smile must have meant something like an approval, so she went right on thinking about a baby girl named Laura.

She felt a tiny bit guilty about that fancy name. Amish people were encouraged to give their babies plain names like Sarah, Barbara, Anna, and Rebecca, old Bible names that the Amish had used for generations. The thing was, if you really wanted to know which Sarah or Barbara someone was speaking of, you had to add her grandfather’s name and her father’s name to identify her. You couldn’t just say Barbara Zook or Anna Stoltzfus. You had to say, “She is one of Dan’s Sammie’s girls.” It was quite frustrating.

Take her own name, for instance. Lizzie Glick. Her dad’s name was Melvin. But which Melvin Glick? There were lots of Melvin Glicks in the large Amish community surrounding them. So you had to say Doddy Glick’s name, and then Dat’s, before people knew who she was.

Besides, she liked something different, something pretty. Like Laura. It was old-fashioned, for English people, anyway, and it had a nice sound, especially when she added the middle name, Anne.

So here she was, waking up in this strange place, her heart sinking when she thought of the previous night. She had been so very tired, wanting to sleep so desperately, but they kept bringing Laura in, saying it was time for her to eat. But no matter how much the kind nurses tried to help, or in what position she held Laura, she refused to nurse for longer that a few tense seconds. The whole night had been a complete disaster. Lizzie fought tears of despair, she was so upset about the ordeal of trying to breast-feed her baby, who, apparently, was absolutely clueless as to what was required of her.

Lizzie sighed and smoothed the blanket a bit self-consciously as a very large nurse opened the door with her foot and bustled efficiently about the room. She checked Lizzie’s blood pressure, took her temperature, poked and prodded her, and asked questions fast and furious like a game of ping-pong. Lizzie was having trouble keeping up with the ball.

“Time for your shower!” the nurse chirped. “Breakfast at eight!” Lizzie groaned, thinking about getting out of bed, but soon realizing that she had absolutely no choice whatsoever, without even a minute of reluctance. Her sheets were pulled back, a pair of very large solid arms were extended toward her, and she was propelled out of bed, her head spinning, the room seeming to tilt permanently to the left. She shuffled to the shower, depending on this solid pillar of strength beside her.

Lizzie had to admit that the soothing hot water and soap, and having her hair washed squeaky clean, were great spirit-boosters, for sure. Her breakfast tray did not stir her appetite at all. In fact, the smells assaulting her from beneath the brown plastic covers made her feel nauseous. She sat in her bed, her back propped against pillows, and wished with all her heart she could figure out why she felt so alone and insecure. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

Surely something was wrong with her. Wasn’t this supposed to be a time of great love and joy? She had often looked longingly at pictures in magazines of a wife holding a sweet, perfect, newborn baby. The father always had his arm around both of them, looking so happy because he simply adored his beautiful wife and baby. That was what she had always imagined, the perfect moment from which they would live happily ever after.

Mam had told her once, in her wise way, that having a baby was more than just a soft woolly blanket and cute baby clothes. Lizzie had blinked her eyes a few times and watched Mam suspiciously for awhile after she said that, trying to gauge her level of seriousness. As far as she could tell, Mam was pretty serious. Oh, well, she had thought then. Having a baby was something she was quite certain she could handle. Weren’t there thousands and thousands of babies born in the United States every day? It couldn’t be that bad.

But, now, sitting alone in the green, sterile environment of her hospital room, her head back against the white pillows, she closed her eyes and tried desperately to fight back the feeling of dread as she thought of the nurse bringing baby Laura to be breast-fed. The whole thing was so devastating. Laura simply would not nurse right. Lizzie sighed, casting a sideways glance at her roommate, Dorie, who was serenely eating great forkfuls of scrambled eggs. Lizzie watched her and wished she could pull the curtain between them.

Chewing happily, Dori swallowed, and then trilled joyfully. “Good morning!” Lizzie quickly gathered her trembling mouth into a quivering smile and answered, “Good morning!”

“Did you sleep well?” Dori asked, spearing a piece of bacon with gusto.

“Not really. Well, only when they didn’t bring my baby in.”

“Yes, she was a bit fussy, wasn’t she? Oh, well, the first few days won’t really determine how she’ll be once you get her home.”

Lizzie nodded gratefully, her eyebrows held high, the lump in her throat swelling to gigantic proportions when Dorie spoke so kindly.

Why in the world did she always feel like crying? This was awful. Perhaps she would become mentally ill now. Biting her lip and struggling to regain her composure, she squeaked, “Is that what they say?”

“Oh, yes!”

Lizzie nodded, a ray of hope beginning to dissolve the lump in her throat. Yes, she would be fine, she really would. She could handle this.

“Aren’t you eating?” Dorie asked, concern in her voice.

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you should eat. It’ll give you strength.”

Lizzie nodded, biting her lip. She felt like crying all over again but was saved from another battle with her emotions by two nurses bringing in the babies.

“Time for the little ones’ breakfast!” they announced happily.

Lizzie’s heart took a complete nosedive, down, down, until her stomach actually hurt from the dread and fear of another despairing episode of trying to feed her baby. But the sight of little Laura made her temporarily forget her fear, as she pushed the white flannel blanket aside and gazed at the small brown face beneath it.

She was so cute, except her forehead was too high, creating the impression that her eyes, nose, and mouth were all one little package, farther down on her face than it should be. Holding the blanket away, Lizzie closely examined the amount of hair Laura had. She had enough not to look bald and ugly like some babies, but not so much that she would need it to be brushed immediately. Yes, she was indeed a cute baby girl, exactly what Lizzie had always dreamed of.

Then, to her amazement, the nurses both left. Just like that, with no warning, they both walked out the door, leaving Lizzie to fend for herself. She felt very much like she was afloat in the middle of nowhere, on a boat with no oars or engine or much sense of direction. She sat bolt upright, clutching Laura as she watched the girl beside her expertly position her little red-haired boy, lean back, and smile. The baby began nursing, as if he knew exactly what he was supposed to do, and went about his business.

Oh, dear, Laura thought wildly, as she cradled little Laura, who promptly threw her head back and began screaming and crying in earnest. No matter which way she held Laura, her response was the same—screaming until beads of perspiration formed along Lizzie’s forehead. She was quite seriously afraid she might faint away, letting her baby fall in the process.