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When it did happen, it came as a complete surprise. She had undergone a minor operation, and instead of recuperating as expected, she continued to feel tired and squeamish. Finally, she sat down and phoned her doctor.
''You're sure I'm all right? I mean — don't you think I should be feeling better than this? It's really a very strange feeling."
She flew back to Arkansas with Dick to publicize The Reformer and The Redhead, and she was violently ill on the plane.
"I'm sorry," she told Dick. "I thought I was getting over my fear of flying."
Five busy days were spent in Arkansas, and they were pure and simple murder for June, because the feeling she'd had on the plane stayed with her the entire time. When they returned home to Hollywood, she put down her share of luggage, tore to the phone and dialed her doctor's number.
"I'm home," she reported, "and you come right over and do something. I feel awful."
I It was then that dawn broke over the doctor's head. "Come down and see me this afternoon," he said, and nothing more. The next day he phoned June at home. "My girl," he said, "you are going to become a mother."
June sat down with a (Continued on page 102)
I
unpleasant mental upsets that should have hit me before the babies were born.
What else could it be? The babies were here. Everything was fine. We were both working. And what was more, the babies were good babies. Such good babies they never even 'woke us nights. Only, I didn't feel any better after all this rationalizing, and, as I pointed out to Jess, how could the boys wake us? They were in a different part of the house with a nurse right by to attend their wants the moment they piped up.
A few evenings later, still dissatisfied, I got a daring idea, or so it seemed. I told Jess I was going to give the nurse the night off, and I wanted the babies' cribs to be moved into our bedroom for the remainder of the night.
The moment this was done, I felt a touch of something long overdue. I got ready for bed in a sort of glow; there we were, the whole family all together. The old empty feeling was disappearing and was being replaced by something that, well — the "something" I knew my friends meant when they asked me if I didn't feel "different."
There was my answer, of course. Having children does not make you a mother; only mothering does. I had been missing the infancy of my boys. I hadn't been living with them,, (Continued on page 95)