Today is Halloween.  What fond memories Halloween always brings for me, but not for the reasons you may think.  Let me tell you about this night twelve years ago …

When I found out I was pregnant and due October 23rd, I was cautiously elated.  One of my previous children was born over a week late, and I knew there was a slim chance this one might pull the same stunt.  And I didn’t want a Halloween baby. 

“Why?”, you may ask.  Well for one thing he would be called a “spook” or “goblin” or “witch” his/her whole life.  All the birthday parties would have a (required) Halloween theme.  And there are crazy people out there who think babies born on Halloween belong to the devil.  Oh, please, anything but Halloween.

So, there I sat on Halloween night, watching my kids run from one booth to another at the carnival.  I was tired, huge, and a week overdue.  My belly was resting on the chair between my legs.  My breathing was shallow because the baby was displacing my lungs.  They don’t make shoes to fit the shape of my bloated feet.  But I was okay with all that; just let it wait one more day.

I had a little gas pain.  Then another.  Then another.

“OH, NO!” I cried inside.  Not tonight!  It was 8:00 p.m.  This was my fourth baby.  The chances of it being born on October 31st were astronomical.

They say walking encourages labor, so I didn’t. I got someone to take me home and I lay on my bed and pretended it wasn’t happening.  I slept between contractions, willing them to come slower. 

I deceived myself into believing that as long as I stayed home, the baby wouldn’t come.  At about 11:20, my contractions were so hard and close, I knew if I waited any longer I’d have the baby at home.  We rushed to the hospital.

At 11:55, the doctor said excitedly, “PUSH!”

I thought about it.  “No way,” I told myself.  No way was I gonna have this baby at midnight on Halloween night.

I resisted nature, did some serious LaMaze breathing, but didn’t push.  There was a hush in the delivery room.  The doctors and nurses were standing around unbelieving. 

At 12:01 a.m. they all yelled, “It’s after midnight! NOW, PUSH!”  My son, Walter, was born moments later.  All nine pounds, six ounces of him.

November 1st is All Saints Day.  What a difference that five minutes has made in his life. 

Instead of being a little goblin, he will always be “my little saint”.