Carolyn Pierce felt she was in a race with herself. Which would she produce first, a child or a dissertation? It was a race she was losing, which meant -- in some sense -- that she was winning it, too. But she definitely would prefer to produce the dissertation first, and it didn't look like she would. For one thing, once a dissertation was finished, it was quite finished. You needn't feed it or diaper it. She had no illusions that the baby would be so simple. Anyway, the dissertation was coming along slowly. She was still struggling with the first draft, and she was clear that there would be others.

She'd already limited herself. The locations of bookstores in Chicago had changed to the bookstores in a Northern section of Chicago. With that limitation approved, she had been able to finish the interview section of her research. The library research had been less trouble. Arranging all that information so that it both made sense and could be comprehended by a reader was the current struggle. And, as her pregnancy advanced, she was not only moving more slowly, she was thinking more slowly.

The rest of the world didn't stop because she was concentrating on two things, either. She was still assistant-teaching one course, and she was still attending Aldersgate UMC. The last got her a call from Judy Grant.

"You're a member of the UMW, aren't you?"

"Sorta. Gladys had me fill out a membership app and pay the dues. I'm not really planning to attend until I'm slimmer."

"Hah! You think you'll have more time after the delivery. Really, they're less trouble -- hard as that is to believe now -- when they're inside you. Anyway, don't tell Gladys..." She didn't like the sound of that, but she kept her silence. After a moment, Judy went on.

"You, of all people, should remember the brouhaha over the last rummage sale."

"Well, I'm married to the man who started it."

"Bill didn't really start it. He just refused to roll over. Well, some of us are getting a little tired. The group needs new blood at the top, and won't get it until some new people attend, which won't happen as long as it's the same old - same old, which won't change until we get some new blood at the top."

"You make it sound hopeless."

"It nearly is, but not quite. The executive committee are the four officers, president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer. They move up the chairs. Only death, and maybe not that, can keep this year's treasurer from becoming next year's secretary. And so forth. Well, some of us want to elect Gladys as treasurer. Otherwise, it will be Grace Benton, and nothing will change. Enough of us with formal membership attending the meeting can elect her. Gladys has ideas. Not that Grace doesn't, just that Grace's ideas are the center of the problem. Can we count on you? And don't tell Gladys."

"Seems a nasty trick on her."

"Well, she'll do the job if she's elected. She needs to be able to say that she's as surprised as anybody, which will be true. Can we count on you? Saturday at 6:30."

"All right. I'll try."

And she made it. The meeting started with a reading of the minutes of the last meeting. The business of the UMW seemed to be conducting meetings to report and vote on conducting the last and next meeting. There was a devotional, which consisted of one woman reading from a booklet in a monotone. All this time, women were looking at the new attendees. They elected a president, vice president -- who was asked to continue taking minutes for this meeting only, and a secretary with only one nomination each.

"Are there nominations for Treasurer?" Jane Wiggins, the new president asked.

"I nominate Gladys Hagopian," Judy said in a louder, clearer voice than most of the previous speakers had used. There were murmurs seconding it.

"Other nominations?" Jane looked right at Beverly Trueblood.

"I nominate Grace Benton." Several people looked like they were counting the likely votes on their fingers. But Grace got up.

"Grace Benton declines." She looked around the room. "You women think you've done something special. Well, I know Gladys. She'll do the work. But that won't mean much if you go home and forget this. If you really want to support her, you should attend more meetings than once a year." She sat down. Gladys was elected by the same unanimous vote, and joined the other officers at the head table.

Well, the others could support Gladys or -- if they chose -- not support Gladys. That meeting had been too long sitting in one position. The baby told her so. She seemed to be kicking in all directions at once.

"What happened?" Bill asked after they'd got in the car. He'd been waiting outside the church for her to emerge.

"An absolute coup d'etat. Gladys is now treasurer of the UMW. Apparently, the officers rotate, but the list of four doesn't change. Your storming the Bastille has led to a new government. I just hope Gladys has some plans."

"The Hagopians have plans. They always do. Remember the Thanksgiving meal?" She did. It had brought her and Bill back together. Gladys hadn't always been happy about that; she hadn't always been happy about that. But now she was. Bill walked behind her up the stairs when they got home. She could manage perfectly well, but he always was prepared to catch her these days.

In the apartment, in the bedroom, she stripped and eased herself onto the bed. She pulled the sheet and blanket over her. They'd bought a blanket with separate heat for the two sides because she always wanted more heat than Bill did. This year, perhaps because the different apartment had better heat, she never turned it on. The baby kicked one more time.

"Bill." She grabbed his hand and held it to the spot. When the kicking seemed to be over, he dropped his hand to the mattress and raised himself up to be at a good angle for kissing. He returned the hand to her belly, though, just in case. The kiss was deep and satisfying. Bill knew her so well, and his skills always brought her satisfaction. Still, maybe it was time for a small change. She brought it up as his kisses moved on to her throat.

"Look, can we change something?"

"What am I doing wrong, now?" He sounded annoyed and defensive.

"It's really not doing something wrong. You know how you turn us over at the end? So you don't lie so heavy on her?" By now, she was certain she would have a girl. It wasn't a matter of evidence, it was a matter of intuition.

"Is that wrong? I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Well, when you started, it might have been a bit premature -- lovely, caring, thought, though. Right now, it might not be quite enough. Do you think you could do it earlier?"

"Earlier?"

"Like right at the beginning. Once you're in me, could you roll us to the side, like you do now, but at the get-go?"

"Oh, sure. You don't want to try from in back?" He wasn't defensive now. Something had changed, but she couldn't see what.

"That'll come soon enough. You don't mind?"

"Darling, no. I'm just sorry I've been pressing too hard." After all the times being annoyed at his arrogance, it was troubling that she was now annoyed at his guilt trips.

"Really, you haven't. Remember that Dr. Gabel told me that sex was safe as long as it didn't make me uncomfortable. Well, that puts me in charge, doesn't it? You aren't supposed to feel if I'm uncomfortable; I am. And, as soon as it starts to get uncomfortable, I suggest a change. Sorry. You aren't in charge, I am."

"You always have been." He kissed her again, ending the conversation quite effectively. He stroked her until she flew, then watched her and kissed her belly and breasts until she was quite done. He sucked her nipples and stroked her clit until she was close again.

"Bill?" She hadn't the energy for more than two tonight. He rose above her length, not touching anywhere. She used one hand to spread herself open and another to guide him in. Slowly, carefully, he filled her. At the last, his belly pressed against hers.

"Darling!" She clasped her knees around his hips as he rolled them over. She was almost on her right side, and he was in front of her and slightly above her. His strokes were long and slow while he stared straight into her eyes. She was close, even closer. She flew.

"Darling," he said again, but louder. He thrust harder into her and pulsed in her depths. When he relaxed, he fell to his side until he was lying on nothing but her thigh.

He rolled onto his back a minute later. Her leg was underneath his, but -- since his knees were bent -- they barely touched. When he rolled over to turn off the lamp, she extricated her legs. He turned on his side, and she snuggled up against him in the spoon. He held her breast, but, when the baby kicked again, she moved his hand to one of the spots. She and Bill, hopefully all three of them, drifted off to sleep.