The Final Month

a novella by

Caroline
(Jetta1521@aol.com)

He watched her as she made her way down the staircase in blue overalls and tennis shoes and he smiled, remembering that not seven months ago she would have been trotting down the stairs in an outfit that could have fit his youngest daughter.   But then again, seven months ago she wasn't carrying their child.

"Ready?"  He asked, holding her coat for her.

"I'm ready.  The real question is, are you ready?  We are about to go on a shopping spree for the nursery.  I hope you can keep up."

He glanced at her enormous stomach.  "I think I'll manage."

But when they returned later than day, he was exhausted and wondered where Fran was getting all her energy.  She had bought enough stuff for six kids and it took Max and Niles four trips to carry everything up to the room that was going to be the baby's.

He joined her on the couch where she was flipping through the pages of a baby name book.

"So, do you think it's a girl or a boy?"  Max asked her as he noticed the book.  They didn't know the baby's gender because Fran had decided to forgo all tests that indicated sex, wanting instead to be surprised.

She smiled, looking down her bulging middle.   "I don't know.  They say if you carry the baby high, it's a boy, and if it is low it is a girl, but I seem to be carrying it all over."

"Have you found any names you like?"

"I don't know . . . maybe."

He knew what she was thinking.  "Fran, we are not naming our child Barbra."

"Why not?  It's the perfect name.  It's a lot better than Greyston," she said, referring to the name he had suggested to her earlier.

"What?  Greyston is a very regal name."  He defended proudly.

"No.  It's not."  She argued, "and besides, what kind of name is that for a girl, anyway?"

"How do you know it's a girl?"

"Let's just call it mother's intuition."

"What if it's a boy?  I bet it is."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, as I see it, there's a very simple pattern.  My first child was a girl, the second was a boy, the next one a girl.  See?  If you follow the pattern, you'll find the next one to be a boy."   He explained this to her half joking, half serious.  He really did want a boy, though.  He had missed out on a lot of father-son things with Brighton and in a way he was hoping to make it up with the baby.

"That's ridiculous." She rolled her eyes at his logic.  "Look, how about this?  If it is a boy, you can name him, and if it's a girl, which it is, I'll name her."

"Fine. And I think Greyston is a fine bloody name."

Fran cringed.  "And if I promise not to use the sacred name of Barbra, will you please come up with something other than Greyston?"

He smiled at her.  "Of course."  He kissed her on the mouth before getting up and going into his office, taking the baby name book with him.
 
 

He sat in his office, thumbing through the pages of the book, while C.C. did business over the phone.  He read through name after name, but none of them sounded very appealing to him.

C.C. covered the phone and gestured to her partner.  "Maxwell, I have the architect on the line.  The set is ready to be built, but they need to know when they can come in and build it."

"What do you think of the name Spencer?" was his only reply.

"I like it, Sir," Niles piped in as he brought in the afternoon snack.

"Maxwell!"  C.C. repeated his name, irritated at her partner's lack of focus.  "When can the builders start?"

Niles replied to that one.  "Getting more work done on your face, huh?  I'd say they'd better start now, it's going to take at least a month to chip away all the 'ugly'," he sneered at her.

She scowled and reached into her pocket and handed him a dollar bill.  "Here's a week's pay, why don't you go out and buy some soap.  Lord knows you need it."

He simply smiled at her and returned to the kitchen.

She remembered the phone in her hand.  "Maxwell  . . . !?"  She insisted.

"Anytime next week is fine, C.C."  He finally answered, still engrossed in the name book.

Niles popped his head back in the room.   "Sir, I just wanted to remind you of your doctor's appointment with Mrs. Sheffield."  He gave the quarter back to C.C.  "I forgot to tell you that Mr. Sheffield pays for my soap, along with everything else I own.  But here, why don't you use this to help make payments for Jake."   He made reference to the man C.C. had been dating for the past few months.

She glared at him.  "At least he's not filled with air like your last two dates."

Maxwell rolled his eyes at exchange as he got up and left the room to get Fran.  She had been dozing on the couch but he woke her and together they left for the hospital.

It was a successful check up and like always, Maxwell never got tired of hearing the baby's heartbeat.

"See, that's the heartbeat of a strong boy," he announced proudly.

"Or girl," she added.

"A quick ultrasound would settle this argument," the doctor suggested.

"No," Fran insisted, "I don't want to know yet."  And Maxwell was happy to oblige her, although he was a little nervous about not running any tests to make sure the baby was okay.

The doctor had said that the baby was a good size, and recommended they take Lamaze.  It was only her seventh month, but she looked like she could have given birth right then and there as she lay there in the exam room with her enormous belly.

Their first Lamaze class was that Saturday, and although all the other women were further along in their pregnancy, Fran was by far the largest.

"Max, am I really that big?"  She asked as they walked down the empty corridor.

"You do look like you're having triplets, but what's wrong with that?"

"I just feel so fat."

"You're not fat, you're pregnant."  He helped her into the car.

That night they practiced what they had learned in class that day.  She lay down on their bed and feigned a contraction.  He pretended to time the pain, and she breathed like she was supposed to, but suddenly she stopped and sneaked a hand into his sweater.

"Fran, please try to be serious!"  He tried to get her hand out of his shirt, but she was tickling him and he was laughing.

"Let's do something else," she suggested as she attacked him.

He smiled at her advance.  "That's what got you in to this situation in the first place."

"True."  She rolled onto her back.  Lying like that, she looked absolutely gigantic.  He almost made a comment about her looking like a beached whale but decided against it as he lay next to her on his stomach. Instead he propped himself up on his elbows and he kissed her.  "You are the most beautiful woman I know."

"Thanks."  She smiled and tears came to her eyes.  "I'm a little scared," she confessed.

"I know.  But everything is going to be fine, I promise."

"But what if it's not.  Did I really make the right decision, not letting the doctor run any tests?  What if there is something wrong and we don't know it?"  Her fears seemed to multiply as she advanced closer to her due date.

"Nothing is wrong.  You said it yourself, you pregnancy is normal and has been remarkably easy.  If something were wrong, we'd know it.  But it isn't, and you and the baby are going to be fine."  He reassured her, as much for himself as for her.  "You'll be fine."  He kissed her again.  "You should be grateful that you still turn me on."

"I should, huh?  Well don't you go getting a beer belly or I'll drop you like that."  She snapped her fingers.  She looked at her watch.  "I'm hungry," she stated aloud.

"We just ate!"

"So?  I'm starving."  She got up and went down the kitchen looking for anything that would calm her craving for food.  She put together some unidentifiable concoction using pickles and paté and anything else she could find in the refrigerator and they were both laughing at her meal as she headed back upstairs to eat it when she stopped with a frightened look on her face.

"What is it, Fran?"  He looked at her worriedly.

"I'm not sure . . . " She put down her plate and she grabbed the wall for support.  Her stomach had gotten hard as a rock and it felt as if all the air was being squeezed from her.  It was just how they described it at Lamaze  "I think I just had a contraction."  She was scared, and he put an arm around her.  But she felt fine now.
 
 "Does it feel like the real thing?"
 
 "It couldn't be.  I'm only seven months along."

"Maybe we should call the doctor."  He suggested, worried that she was about to have the baby.

She shook her head.  "No, let's wait.  This could just be a false alarm.  You know, warm-up contractions.  Braxton-Hicks, I think they're called."

They went upstairs and she had two more contractions, and then they stopped.

They lay on the bed as Fran finished her meal.  Max looked nauseated at her food.  "How can you eat that?  I think it's disgusting."

"Yeah, well . . . I think I love you."  She put her arms around him.  He had to contain himself because of her pregnancy, but he found that he wanted her all the time.  How could he fantasize about a woman who was so hugely pregnant?  But he found that he loved her more each day, she was so vulnerable, so cute and so cuddly.  He kissed her again, but he managed to ward her off when she tried too seductive.  "If you don't cut it out, Fran, you'll have quadruplets."

"Now there's a scary thought."  She thought about it for a moment, then dismissed the idea.  It was enough trouble worrying about one baby, let alone four.  She made a dozen trips into the nursery every night, making sure everything was in order, folding clothes and arranging toys.  It touched Max to see her like that and made him think about how much she meant to him.
 
 
 

Their final Lamaze took place just as Fran was entering her eighth month of pregnancy, and she felt she knew all she could about Lamaze and breathing, but Max grew more nervous as her due date approached, wondering if he knew enough to be truly helpful.  She sat in the living room that morning watching TV, exhausted.  It wasn't even ten o'clock when she felt sharp kick and everything tighten her chest to her thighs.  She could hardly breathe, but it didn't really hurt.  Another day, another practice round, she sighed.   The warm-up contractions happened mostly when she was really tired.  But they bothered her all morning, so much so that she couldn't concentrate and could only count down the time until she was supposed to meet Maxwell at the airport and then go out for lunch.  She was so glad he was coming back today, even though he had only been gone for three days, it had felt like an eternity.  When it was time to leave to meet his flight, she took the Jeep he had bought her for the baby.  When she picked him up he was starving, so they stooped for lunch at one of the nicer restaurants in Flushing.  It was nice, but Fran wasn't very hungry and only ordered a salad.

"Is something wrong, darling?"  He was used to her ordering half the menu, and a salad was out of character for her.

"I'm fine.  Those stupid contractions have been bothering me all morning."  When the food came she tried to eat, but it didn't help, and the contractions were really beginning to bother her, so he paid the check and got the car to take her home.  She made a quick trip to the restroom before leaving; she seemed to have to go constantly lately.

He got the car and pulled it up to the curb where she was waiting for him.

"When we get home, I'll run a hot bath for you, that might help," he said when they were both in the car.  She smiled at his offer, wanting nothing more than to be at home at that moment.  They drove through town and she rubbed her belly.  She could see it moving in front of her.

"Max, can we stop?  I need to use the bathroom again."

"Now!?  You just went."  They had only been driving for fifteen minutes.

"Well, I have to go again.  It'll only take a second."  He pulled over and let her out at a small store on 51st Avenue.  She came out minutes later and he smiled to himself as he watched her waddle out the doors and try to maneuver herself into the car.

He pulled back into traffic and they drove through town.  "We're about to get on the freeway, do you need to stop before I get on?"  He asked, half-mocking, half-serious.

She rested her hands on her enormous stomach and thought for a moment before answering.  She shook her head.  "No, I'll be okay."

They got on the highway and minutes later she wondered if she had made the right choice, because ahead of them traffic had come to a complete halt.  He slowed the Jeep to a stop behind the cars.  None of the lanes on either side of them were moving.  They sat there for so long that he put the car in park and eventually shut it off completely.  They hadn't moved in thirty-five minutes.  People had begun to get out of their cars and stand outside, waiting to be able to move again.  He flipped through the radio stations until he found one reporting the traffic.

"And if you're planning to take the Midtown Freeway, I highly recommend finding an alternate route.  There is an overturned chemical truck just east of the bridge and crews are on the scene now, but traffic before that is a parking lot.   If you are on westbound on I-495, east of the bridge, I'm sorry but get comfortable, because you may be there for a while."

"Damn."  He flipped it off.  They were only a few miles east of the bridge, right in the midst of the jam.

"Oh well, we might as well get comfortable.  How are your contractions?"  He was suddenly concerned about her.

"They're okay."  She hadn't had one since they left the restaurant and she hoped they were done for the day.

They chatted a bit about when the other kids were born.  At first it had made her a little uncomfortable and maybe even jealous that Max had gone through this before with someone else, but now she was more grateful that he had some idea as to what he was doing, because she sure didn't.  And even though he did remember a lot of what pregnancy was about from Sarah, some of it was new to him as well.

He reminisced about Maggie's birth.  "If I'm not mistaken, Sarah was in labor with Margaret for almost thirty hours."

Fran felt the blood drain from her face.  "Thirty hours?  There's no way I could have thirty hours worth of contractions."  Half a day of Braxton-Hicks was bad enough, and she knew real contractions were ten times worse.  As she said that she had another contraction.  She breathed calmly as it passed.  She didn't know if she could handle another whole month of those.

"Brighton was another long labor," Max continued.  "He just refused to come out.  I think he was trying to be funny.  But Grace was out in a matter of hours."

"Uh, Maxwell?"

"Yes, darling, what is it?"  He looked over at her and saw the dress where she sat was wet.

"Fran!  You couldn't have held it!"

She rolled her eyes, insulted.   "Maxwell!  My water broke."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!  I couldn't drink this much in a week!"  Just as she said it, a massive contraction ripped through her entire body.  It was like nothing she had ever felt before and it scared her so much that she screamed and grabbed his hand.

Her grip was almost breaking his fingers but he knew the pain in his hand wasn't close to what his wife was experiencing right then.  "It's okay, Fran, breathe."

She stared out the sea of cars stopped ahead of them.  "At this rate, we won't get out of here for days," she sighed.

He remembered the jam they were in and, despite the pain it would bring, hoped that she would have a long labor.  He had no desire to deliver his baby in a car on the freeway.  And if something were to go wrong . . . no, he had no choice but to get them to a hospital right away.

He felt her stiffen and make a strange noise beside him.  Her face looked tense and her whole body went rigid when she clutched him.  Her eyes were closed and her mouth was tightly shut.

The contraction came and went and she was able to relax, but they persisted and were getting worse, judging by how tightly she was gripping his hand.  He sat beside him panting hysterically, but the contraction had passed.

"Fran, are you okay?"  He looked worried as he watched her face and saw beads of perspiration on her forehead.

"I'm okay . . . I am.  Oh, no!"  She shouted suddenly as another contraction tore into her.  "No, I'm not . . . oh, Max!"  She gasped, forgetting everything she had learned in the past month about breathing.  But he breathed with her and she panted her way through.  And through her pain Fran was glad that Maxwell was there.  His voice calmed her when she was most afraid.

"Fran, we need to get you to a hospital."

She looked out the window at the clogged highway.  "Yeah, you do that," she said sarcastically.  People were sitting on the hoods of their cars talking and waiting.   She opened the car door and got out.  "Let's walk around a bit, it might help."

Max got out and helped her around the side of the car and as she walked a sharp pain shot up her back and her stomach tightened so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her.  She leaned against the car and tried to breathe through it, but it was apparent that they were getting dangerously close together.  Suddenly a man approached them.

"Excuse me, but are you okay?  Is there something I can do to help?"

"Are you a doctor?"  Max needed to get her to a medic.

"Yes, but I don't think I'll be much help in your situation.  I'm only a podiatrist.  How far apart or the contractions?"

He thought for a moment.  "I'm not quite sure.  They came on so soon and so fast that I haven't had a chance to really time them.  I'd say about five or six minutes apart."

"You don't have very much time, then."  Before Max could say anything, the man went from car to car, requesting that they move up or back so that they could get through.  When the man came back, there was just enough room between the other cars for Max to maneuver the Jeep onto the shoulder and up the grass.  He thanked the stranger and climbed the grassy side of the freeway, thankful that Fran had brought Jeep instead of the Ferrari or limo.   Fran began to cry as another contraction started.

"It's all right, darling.  We'll get you to the hospital soon and you'll feel better."  He maneuvered the truck up the grass with one hand while the other was wrapped tightly in his wife's.  They had been trapped in traffic for almost two and a half hours and the contractions had become extremely close and painful for her.

"No, I won't," she cried, clinging to him for dear life.  "Oh Maxwell, I can't . . . it hurts . . . "

"I know, darling, but it'll be over soon, I promise."  He ignored the sign prohibiting a right turn on red and sped down 61st St. in search of the nearest hospital.

She tried to breathe through the pain, but it wasn't easy.  The Lamaze worked to up to a point, but she was quickly approaching the point where she couldn't do it.

St. Thomas Hospital was only five minutes away and Fran's contractions were getting closer by the minute.  Max skidded into the admittance entrance and helped her into the lobby.  He could see her tears of pain and it killed him, seeing how bad this was for her and not being able to do anything about it.  He checked her in and sprinted down to her room to be by her side.  When he got there she was already in a hospital gown and the nurse was trying to put a monitor on her, but Fran was resisting terribly.
 
 

"No!  Just deliver the baby!  Ow!"  She writhed in pain and the nurse took advantage of her delicate situation to clip on the monitor.

"Maxwell, where are you?  She cried out and Max jumped to her side.

"I'm here, darling."  He took her hand in his own.

"Max," she whispered, almost drunk with pain, and he leaned in to hear her.  "Max, I don't know these people, and they keep telling me I'm fine, but I know they're lying.  Please cut me open and take this thing out of me.  There's a nail file in my purse, use that if you have to!  Just please make it stop hurting."

He wiped away the tear that had fallen from her eye.  "Fran, I promise, in a few hours this will be all over and you'll have a beautiful baby.  It'll be gorgeous, just like you."  Fran smiled, but it didn't last long as another contraction went searing through her body.

After that contraction the pains seemed to have slowed and she calmed down.  He used the break in her screaming as an opportunity to call the rest of the family and tell them what had happened, but when he dialed the number into his cellular, the answering machine picked up.  Looking protectively at Fran, he spoke into the receiver.

"Hi, it's me." As he spoke, she lay there with her eyes and mouth tightly shut.  "Fran, breathe!"  He reminded her and abandoned the phone call to help her.  She opened her mouth and began breathing again, but and as the contraction climaxed, she began to yell.  "Get the off the *$#%@ phone and get this baby out of here before I go in and take it out myself!" She had another blinding contraction and she screamed.

"It's okay . . . breathe, come on, it's almost over now."  She relaxed as the contraction fell from its peak and he remembered the phone and put it back up to his ear and spoke,  "I'm guessing you can hear that Fran has gone into labor.  We are at St. Thomas's Hospital in Flushing, so try to get here as soon as you can."  He hung up the phone and turned his full attention back to Fran just as another contraction burned though her body.  "You son of a %$&@!"  She swore.  "This is all your fault!  Can't you control the fruits of your manhood!?"  She cried through the contraction.

"Not when I'm with you I can't," he said softly as he brushed some of the damp brown hair out of her face.  "Just focus on the beautiful baby you're going to have when this is all over."  The contractions had stopped becoming longer, but the intensity continued to increase.  Max wondered how much more she would have to endure.
 
 The doctor walked in and checked to see how she was doing.

"Doc, how is she?"  Max rushed over to the man in the white coat.

The doctor looked at him seriously.  "She's having tremendous contractions, and long ones, too.  She is in a lot of pain, and I would give her something, but she is far enough along now that it wouldn't do much good.  She's in a lot more pain than many other labor cases I've seen, but she's almost fully dilated, so soon we can begin delivering."  He spoke quietly and Fran was screaming.

"Mrs. Sheffield, would you like to have your baby now?"  The doctor addressed Fran.

Fran nodded, looking defeated.

Two nurses appeared in the room with the equipment for the birth.  One of the nurses attached handles to the bed, and the room was draped in blue paper and the suddenly the entire room was transformed.  The doctor left and returned moments later with a woman dressed in a lab overcoat and spoke to Max.  "If you don't mind, Dr. Stein will be observing the delivery, She's a specialist in obstetrics from Los Angeles and it might be good to have her on hand."

Maxwell didn't care, he just wanted them to deliver his wife as soon as possible.  The nurse handed him some scrubs to put on.

"It's coming out!  It's coming!"  Fran screamed and rocked back and forth in agony.

"No, it's not."  The doctor tried to calm her down, and instructed her to breathe, and Max tried to show her, but she was screaming and not paying any attention.

"Don't push!"  The doctor shouted at her.  Max hated seeing her in pain, and it got worse as the doctor examined her.  She felt a searing pain lash it's way right through her.  The doctor finished examining her and nodded with satisfaction.

"It's almost time to push, Fran . . . just a few more contractions."

"Absolutely not!"  She screamed, and then struggled to sit up, fighting the monitor until she undid it from her stomach and threw it on the floor.

"Okay, Fran, would you like to start pushing now?" the doctor asked.  Max tried unsuccessfully to soothe her.  Fran didn't answer the man, but began pushing with all her might.  "I can see its head now.  That's it . . . come on . . . you're doing great.  That's great, keep it up."  He encouraged her as she gave a hideous scream and looked at Maxwell as if she was begging him to save her.

"That's it . . . you've got it . . . " The doctor encouraged her, and she pushed with all her might, but she seemed to be controlled by pain, and she screamed every time she pushed as Max held her and comforted her.  He felt helpless as she struggled with the pain and wished he could do more than hold her there in that bed.  She fell back again, and then sat up and pushed again, there was a quiet wail, and Max looked up in astonishment.  Fran was smiling through her tears and then she screamed again as she pushed the baby out, and fell back, exhausted.

"It's a boy!" the doctor exclaimed, and handed the baby to Fran.  The tiny child lay naked there in her arms as its crying subsided.  Her face was dripping and Max had never loved her more.  He kissed her full on the mouth and she laughed and cried with him, as she held her son.  The nurses covered the baby with a blanket and smiled at the beautiful sight.  Max remembered how much she had wanted a girl, but she no longer seemed to care as she looked at the tiny infant, and then suddenly a pained look appeared on her face and she grabbed his arm.  The nurse gently took the baby from her.

"Ooh . . . Max . . . that really hurts."

"Don't worry, we just have to deliver placenta now."  The doctor looked indifferent, but then Max noticed a frown appear on his face.  He began panic as he felt his heart drop into his stomach.  Something was wrong with her, and she was in horrible pain again, worse than before.

"Doctor, what is it, what's wrong?"

But the doctor didn't answer, and the specialist rushed over from where she had been standing.  "Don't worry Mr. Sheffield, everything will be fine, just stay with your wife."

He took Fran's hand and tried to calm her.  "What's... happening?"  She could hardly speak anymore.  "Max... I can't ... anymore... " She writhed in the bed and he held onto her hand, looking at the doctors and then back at her, anxious to know what was happening to his wife.

"Yes you can.  You must, Fran."  Tears of joy were replaced with tears of panic as he watched the two doctors converse and he wondered why the bloody hell they didn't put her to sleep to find what was wrong.  She felt like she was being ripped in half as the pain shot through her.  Maxwell heard the doctor say,  "We need an NIU, stat!"  to one of the nurses.  The nurse rushed out and suddenly without warning Fran began pushing with all her might, and Maxwell heard another tiny wail, as his eyes grew wide.   The specialist smiled at her and the doctor grinned as he held another tiny child in his hands.

He handed the baby to Max this time, who held it with a look of awe and then presented the baby to Fran to hold.  "Mrs. Sheffield," he announced, "it's a girl."  He leaned down and kissed his wife and the mother of his children.

The nurse took the second baby from her and the pediatric resident arrived to check on the babies, but they were both fine.  Even though they were almost a month early, they weighed 7 pounds 8 ounces and 7 pounds 6 ounces respectively, healthy sizes.  Maxwell watched them take the babies to the nursery while she cleaned up, and he was back fifteen minutes later.

"Darling, you're amazing.  You had two babies!"

She just smiled and nodded weakly.  "Are they okay?"

"They're just fine, just like their mother."  He kissed her, but she looked tired and he left her alone to let her sleep promising to be there when she woke up.

He watched the babies in the nursery through the pane of glass that separated them, and then sat down on a couch in the hallway and rested his head in his hands.  It had been a long day, but entirely worth it.  He had just watched his wife give him two beautiful children.

"Dad?"  He heard his oldest daughter's voice.

He looked up and saw Maggie and the rest of the family running down the hall, their arms full of flowers and balloons.

"How is she?"  Niles asked hurriedly.  "How far along is she?"

"Where's Fran?"  Grace asked.

Max led them around the corner and into her room where she lay quietly, displaying no evidence of the ordeal she had just endured.  Her hair was brushed, her face and body washed, and she had even put on a little lipstick.  She was a totally different person than the one who had been hysterical and screaming in anguish earlier that day.

"She already had it?"  Brighton asked in surprise.

Max nodded.  "About an hour ago."

Grace pointed to the balloons and flowers that Brighton cumbersomely held.  In one hand were blue flowers and balloons reading, "It's a boy!" in the other were pink flowers and balloons reading, "It's a girl!"

"We didn't know, so we got both," she explained.

Max smiled at his daughter and walked over to the bed.  "Fran?"  He whispered in her ear.  "You have some visitors."

She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw everybody.  Max helped her sit up, for she was still in a little pain.  They hugged and congratulated her.

A nurse came through the open door rolling a bassinet with a tiny baby inside. "Somebody missed his Mommy," the nurse explained as she entered the room.

Brighton peered at the tiny newborn.  "Yes!"  He exclaimed out loud.  "I knew it was a boy!"  He grinned triumphantly at Maggie and looked at his little brother.

Maxwell picked up the baby and handed it to Fran.

"Oh, Fran, he's beautiful," Maggie cooed.  Everyone gathered around to see the newest addition to the family.

"Family, I'd like you to meet Alexander Hunter Sheffield."  Max announced proudly.

"He's adorable," Grace touched his little hand.

Another nurse entered the room pushing a bassinet.  "Excuse me.  I have a very hungry little girl here."

Niles stared at her.  "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong room.  We already have a baby."

But Max thanked the nurse and picked up the infant, wrapped tight in pink swaddling clothes similar to her brother's blue blanket, clean and smelling sweet.  "Niles, kids, this is Ashley Nicole Sheffield.  Ashley, meet your family."   He held the baby up so they could see.

"Twins!"  Maggie cried.

Max and Fran looked like a handsome couple as they sat on the bed holding their newborn babies.

"Well, it's a good thing we got both sets of balloons," Grace joked as the family crowded around the bed to meet its new members.
 

The Nanny is a copyright of Sony Pictures, Tri-Star Television, High School Sweethearts, Sternin & Fraser's Ink, Inc. and CBS Television. No infringement on the rights of anyone involved in its production is intended.

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