Last night I walked Gorby through the dusky evening, the baby sling across my chest holding the weight of a sleeping twin. Mist was heading in but it was light enough to enjoy the woods. I felt pretty brave walking him in the evening, because even in full daylight I can walk through the woods and expect, at any moment, to be confronted by a bad guy. With a chainsaw. And a creepy penchance for piano music played on the high notes only. And of course I'd be the stereotype and run up the stairs, tripping and falling and crying, because that's apparently what girls do in the slasher pics.

(And I would totally have gone back for Jones, too.)

As we walked, I picked up a stick and threw it for Gorby. Like an idiot, he bounded across the bracken and fallen trees for something he could have picked up at any other location. I was just about to reach for my iPod in my pocket (I may come to the woods to relax, but I'll do it to my music, dammit), when I heard a noise in the woods behind me.

I froze, expecting the sound of a chainsaw starting up and wondered how I would handle running up the stairs when there weren't any.

I turned, and there I saw a woman. Shorter than I, she was wearing a long white bathrobe and a purple beanie. On her feet were thick yellow Wellies. I chewed on my lip a moment as I regarded her - I'm all for walking the dog in my pajamas (in fact, that's exactly what I was wearing), but the bathrobe posed a stretch too far. At least it was the thick fleecy kind, although in her case, it was covered with yellow rubber duckies.

Whatever works, I guess.

As the woman gets closer, I can see she's pregnant. Heavily pregnant. So pregnant the first thing that comes to mind is "Is she having twins?", but then I am no fool, I have read enough blogs of women carrying a singleton and I know that's the single worst thing to ask a woman, ever (even worse that "Are you on the rag?", because that's none of your business, either). The bathrobe belt lies over her enormous bump, and the way one of her hands is absentmindedly rubbing the mound screams "baby" in a completely uncomplicated way.

She looks up, sees me, smiles and waves. She heads towards me, making her way carefully through the uneven terrain. I adjust the baby sling across my chest and wait for her - I'm not big on talking babies with people, but her outfit is enough to make me pause.

"Hello," she says when she finally reaches me. "Sorry if I startled you."

"No, no problem. I'm just walking my dog," I say, motioning to the muddy, idiot-like Gorby. "Do you live around here?" I ask. I'm sure I would've noticed someone dressed in a rubber duckie robe. I would've asked where she got it, it's just my kind of thing.

"No, I'm not local. I'm trying to find more permanent accommodation," she says sweetly. "I'm thinking of Woking or, oh, the little town of Bethlehem. Something like that." She has nice eyes. Nice eyes nearly forgive the bizarre get-up.

"I'm Helen," I say, smiling and waving. Chicks don't need to shake hands, especially in a forest.

"I'm Mary. People call me the Virgin Mary," she says, waving back.

"Wow," I whistle. "High school must've been hard. Mind if I call you Mary? The Virgin part of it feels pretty uncomfortable." And pretty incorrect, judging by the size of the watermelon she's packing.

She smiles. "It's a silent night around here, isn't it?"

"Indeed. The woods are so peaceful, it's like walking in a winter wonderland. Only, you know, no snow and all." We walk in silence. "Is that your first?" I ask, nodding at her stomach.

"Yes it is! I got pregnant via immaculate conception."

"No kidding! Me too! I mean, I've never heard of IVF being called immaculate conception, but whatever works for you and all. It took me 5 rounds to get pregnant, how many did you take?"

Mary smiles beatifically. I wish I could smile like that. It's simultaneously "I have a secret" and "no, I'm not telling you what it is" all at the same time. So she must've gotten pregnant the first round, the lucky cow.

I motion towards my sling. "This is one of my twins, I had them in October."

"Lucky you! Girls, boys, or both?" she asks, smiling.

"Both," I reply. I look into the sling. "What child is this..." I murmur, then proudly show off Nick.

"Do you know what you're having?" I ask.

"A boy. An angel of the Lord, and the son of God," she replies happily.

"Well sure, we all think our kids are great, but there are limits." I shrug. "Any idea on names?"

"I'm thinking of 'Arbuthnot'," she replies. I smile, hopefully encouragingly, although the idea of a child called "Arbuthnot" makes my ears bleed. I fear for the kid's future.

I turn at the sound of a crashing Gorby, who at that moment lands squarely in a huge puddle. "Gorby!" I shout. "Jesus Christ!"

"Jesus Christ," Mary murmurs. "Now that's a good name."

Nick stirs, a hand popping out of the sling. I take it gently in my own and fold it back in the sling. "Baby, it's cold outside. Keep your hands in, Frosty the snowman."

We walk a bit more. "Helen," Mary asks. "What was the worst part of pregnancy for you?"

I think about it for a minute. "The worst part?" I reply. "Oh, I dunno. All of it, actually. You?"

"I can't get comfortable at night. I feel like I'm sleeping away in a manger or something, I can't get comfortable on a mattress, on wood, I imagine I can't even get comfy on rocks. And I haven't shaved my legs in months."

"Yeah, your priorities change a lot," I agree. "It's not important to get that difficult-to-shave under the knee part when you can't see past your waist. I couldn't do anything in my late pregnancy. Plus I got put on modified bed rest, so even gardening is out. I had the neighbor's son mow the lawn. You know, Tommy? He's in the school band? The little drummer boy? Yeah, he'll cut the grass for a fiver."

She sighs heavily. I can tell the walk is getting to her.

"Are you happy?" Mary asks, adjusting the tie on her rubber duckie bathrobe. "Really happy? I get worried. It's nice to think of having my baby at this time of year, in the winter wonderland, but that's just a side issue. Being a mother for the first time is so frightening. I wonder if I'm ready sometimes, if the happiness will be there after the baby arrives in the way I hope it will be."

I think about it. "Am I happy?" I reply. I smile. "Sometimes I am so happy I can't believe it. It should be illegal to be this happy. Other times I am so blue I can't figure out which way is up, I can't even follow the bubbles. But if you mean am I happy having my twins? The answer is yes. Absolutely. This year with them and their first Christmas, it's just amazing. I'll be home for Christmas this year, and it wil be wonderful, every single part of it."

Mary smiles. "So much to look forward to." She rubs her stomach again.

"That's not even mentioning the ridiculous hats you have to look forward to dressing your son in."

"I know. I bought one in the shape of a dreidl. My husband Joseph doesn't approve."

"Men never approve of the hats. Some kind of irrational fear that we'll put hats on them, I guess. If I had two body parts shaped like a skull I'd worry too."

Mary smiles and puts a hand to my arm. "Thank you for letting me walk with you. It's been nice. I have to go now, but thanks for the advice."

I smile back. "No problem. And good luck with your little one."

A bright yellow light comes down on us then, and I look up to see an immense star shining, lighting up the near dark evening. Mary walks towards it and the edges of her robe start to pale. She turns, waves, and smiles.

"Hey Mary!" I shout just before she dissolves. Stranger things have happened to me at Christmastime than watching a could-be mental patient dissolve into a beam of light. "Happy Holidays. And have yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Mary smiles back. "Hang in there, Helen. They're going to amaze you someday."

And then she's gone.

-H.

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