I remember when Mom was first pregnant with Rachelle. A bunch of us waited in the car for her during her first prenatal check-up. I don't know if this was a new doctor, of if he'd already delivered prior babies of Mom's. Whatever he was, he wasn't keen on the idea of "too many" children. When he understood that Mom already had eleven living children, he suggested she abort this one. Mom unhesitatingly replied, "I wish you doctors would quit playing God," and came out to the car exclaiming about the
unmitigated gall of that doctor.
I also remember waiting for her in the car during her next doctor's appointment, which didn't last very long. This time she came out of the office chuckling that the doctor had refused to see her. It's probably a good thing for Rachelle (and the rest of us, because what would we do without her?) that he did.
She was born a month before I got back from my first year at the U. The first time I held her I couldn't help noticing something different about her, something I had never seen in the face of a baby before. It was like the look of an angel. I am not so naive as to believe that she has always acted like one, but I do believe she means to try, and she gets closer every day to actually being one, in my opinion.
With Rachelle Mom developed a new passion for breastfeeding (to replace the old passion she'd had of making us healthy by "sneaking" brewer's yeast into our orange juice before we came down for breakfast). She determined that she would nurse Rachelle until she (Rachelle) weaned herself. With this, Rachelle happily nursed and nursed, and grew and grew, and as she grew she became more and more conversant until finally she was able to say the words that would procure her feast, "Mama, tee-tee!" This brief, one-sided dialogue most often took place during Sunday School or Sacrament meeting when all was quiet (except for Rachelle). It probably happened most frequently in church because this was likely when her request was granted in the most timely manner, to shut her up.
For breakfast every morning, without fail, we had two beverages: milk and orange juice. Two glasses were placed at each setting for this purpose. And every morning at breakfast, Mom would, without fail, breastfeed Rachelle. Observing this one morning, and in a prodigious attempt to put one and one together, three-year-old Noelle innocently inquired of Mom as she was switching sides with the baby, "Why do you have two of 'em? Is one for milk and one for orange juice?"
Rachelle was a child of few words, as I remember, probably to save energy, being that it was a great effort to be heard above the din of life at our house, what with being the youngest of twelve. But she could speak up without hesitation when it became important enough to do so, such as the time we were going to go swimming and she, after looking and looking around without saying anything to anybody, announced, expressively, with her little hands upraised in a helpless gesture, "
I can't find my
baby toop (bathing suit)!" She could also be effectively communicated with if approached in just the right way (something I believe Mike has learned to do very well by now, and my God bless him for it). Something important was missing--I don't remember what it was, only that everyone had looked and looked for it in vain. Rachelle, I noticed, was not joining in the hunt, but was just standing around with a knowing look. I approached her and asked if she knew where the thing was. Without saying a word, she took my hand and led me right to it.
With abject apologies beforehand to Luella and Noelle (I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me), I have to confess that after their births I wished Mom would quit having babies, they were so much work and I felt that I ended up with more than my share of the load, but I was being maladjusted and lazy. If I had the chance to go back and think again, I would never have made such a wish. Babies are worth the work, and the work well-done makes them worth their weight in gold. I am so glad I never vocalized my wish to Mom, and so glad she told that doctor what was what. Rachelle, as it turns out, has become my very best friend, the distance in years between us notwithstanding. I'm
so glad she came along.
