Nora had her third child, Ian. If she thought her first pregnancy was an abberation, this third proved it was not.
She attributed her sense extra-ordinary to inexperience. This was her third child. None of her pregnancies were bad, her labours was not painful. Her children gave no trouble. They didn’t make those howling cries at night, they never were sick.
Ian, as his brothers, slept through the night at the age of 19 days. She began toilet training him at 3 months, just like his brothers. He began talking, and was walking by one year, just like his brothers.
She had to accept Trevor, her beloved husband’s assessment; “This is how a child grows when he has a full time mother, and a father who devotes his time to that child.”
Gabe was four, George was three, and Ian was one year old when she took them to the park. As each child behaved exactly the same, she attributed her fortune to good genes why they were never sick, very bright and never gave trouble. They seemed to know what she liked and gave her that, as if she had invented them.
Sitting in the park hearing; “Susie Stop, Paul don’t, Bobby behave,” bursting from each mother in tandem, she felt an eerie sense of fantasy.
There were her children, playing quietly, alert. When she stood, signifying it was time to go, they stopped what they were doing and came to her, and they left the park.
As she walked out, holding Ian’s hand, Gabe and George holding hands in front of her, she felt blessed.
A perfect husband, perfect children, perfect life.