July 20, 1989

Dearest Moira,

As I follow the progress of your pregnancy, I recall the time when Gil and I were expecting you.

First of all, we were thrilled! We wanted to have a second child . . . we were actively longing for one.

Secondly, it was a generally hopeful time for us. Gil's period of study at the University of Champaign were coming to an end. We looked forward to the new job in Urbana and a new life "after school". We anticipated good things ahead for our little family of Gil, Sonja, and Ann. I remember how I thought a lot about this new baby and how it would come to mean a new era in our family's life.

But not everything was smooth in the early part of the pregnancy. Gil was very busy finishing papers and he was working two part-time jobs. We were at our most poor period then because Gil's G.I. payments had run out and we were getting by on borrowed money. Each month we were getting deeper in debt. That made me quite anxious. But Gil bucked me up, repeatedly, by saying he would soon be earning this terrific salary: $6,000 per year!

Since we would soon be moving from campus to Urbana, I did not want to begin my prenatal check-ups with a private physician whom I would have to leave and, besides, we could not afford it. So, I went to the local community public health clinic, in a store front, on Chicago's South Side near the university. The area was already a changing neighborhood, though not as rough as it became a few years later.

I still remember well that first visit! The store was dingy and furnished with cast-off furnishings that looked far from clean or comfortable. The place was full of pregnant women, many with infants or toddlers. There were puddles of melted snow on the floor and everybody was bundled up in a collection of scarfs, sweaters and ill-fitting coats.

When I approached the nurse at the entrance desk, she whipped out a clipboard with a form and started to interrogate me in an aggressive tone of voice. "Name?" . . . "Single or married?" . . . "Married, of course," said I, shocked (What would I be doing there, if I wasn't married?) As if to prove my status, I held out my hand, with my wedding band. The nurse looked at me with disdain and said, "Lady, anybody can sport a ring." Such a ruse had never even occurred to me. And sure enough, when I looked about, I saw few wedding bands on women's hands. Most who wore them were older . . . or student wives, like myself.

I had a long wait. During this time I observed the different ways in which the women treated their children. Many of them were harsh and resentful, pushing and punching their kids and threatening them verbally. But a few, just as poor or uneducated, were patient and ingenious in the way they entertained and distracted their little ones. One of the women turned to me, with an apologetic smile, and said, "It's hard for a two-year-old to sit still so long, with nothing to do." I determined, right then, that I would learn about what's right and helpful for children, both for the sake of the child and for the parents' sanity.

When it finally came my turn to see the doctor, I was asked to undress in this cubicle, behind a dingy, torn curtain. That's when I almost left. But then the doctor came in, a resident from the university's Lying-In Hospital and we were off on what has become a familiar conversation. "Sonja Donahue . . . that's an unusual combination of names. Where are you from, Mrs. Donahue?"

I visited this clinic three or four times. After we moved to Urbana, I went to Carle Hospital and began to see an obstetrician there. Carle Hospital was a friendly, bright place. But there too, the doctor's first question was about my name and background . . .

Our first home in Urbana was not much bigger than our student pre-fab, but it had a second bedroom and a separate kitchen with an adjacent utility room. And in this utility room there was an electric washing machine. I loved that machine! No longer would I have to drag myself, Ann, dirty laundry and detergent in our rickety stroller for three blocks to the nearest student laundromat, dirty and cramped, wait there for hours until the few, old machines did the work. I would now do the work as soon as I got up, hang it out to dry, and by 10 AM fold the diapers in time for "I Love Lucy."

Urbana was hot in the summer. We did not have a car, so all shopping had to be done by bus or "per pedes apostolorum" (by the feet of the apostles, that is, on foot). I remember Gil and I putting Ann in the stroller after supper and walking to "downtown" Urbana to buy you a plastic bathing tub at Woolworth's, two dozen cotton diapers, nursery bottles, etc. Then walking home for 45 minutes with Ann, cranky and tired, and people in passing cars looking at us strangely because we walked. No one walked in the Midwest, in those years.

In preparation for your coming, Gil repainted Ann's old crib, a dresser and toy shelf. We bought a new changing table and our first "easy chair", a round wicker model, so we'd have something comfortable to sit in while you nursed.

Ann and I undertook several shopping excursions on the bus, during the day, to buy new baby shirts, receiving blankets and a couple of little baby outfits. Each time we went I gave Ann a little money so she, too, could buy something for the baby; a rattle, a soft toy, a pin wheel, a mobile. She planned and schemed long ahead about these important purchases. We went to several stores to find something that was affordable, yet well-designed and attractive. It was on one of these bus trips that Ann pulled up my maternity top, kissed my big tummy and exclaimed for all the passengers to hear, "Oh, I'm so happy about the new baby!"

Yes, darling, you were a welcomed and loved child, from the start. Soon now, you and Tomas will also be parents. Many of the developments are the same, even after all these years, because the life cycle is the same. Much of it is for the better. But you will also have your own set of hurdles. Have faith, these can be resolved with love and imagination. You'll both be better for them and with them you will have your own stories to tell to your children. Love, ~Sonja/Mom

Next: July 9, 1996