My mother, my gaze rests on Emily Flynn Bartlet. She is totally in character, sitting up, back straight, impeccably dressed, and betraying no emotion. The Bartlets didn't make it easy for the Irish girl from Boston who captured their son's heart while on vacation on Lake Winnipesaukee. The fact that her father was a politician only added to the disdain. So, when she married into my father’s old New England family, my mother decided she needed to out-Bartlet the Bartlets. She became the master of holding in her emotions, her manners always impeccable. I used to wonder sometimes if my mother ever felt anything. I can't remember the last time my mother told me that she loved me. It wasn't in her nature to tuck me in with an 'I love you' as a child. But, she did tuck me in with prayers. The Bartlets did not take away my mother's Catholic faith and that was the way she raised my brother Jon and I. She instilled in us a deep sense of our own Catholicism and an abiding sense of right and wrong. For my mother the world is black and white. My trouble with her began when I found the gray areas that she never understood. I did and do resent not growing up with a feeling of warmth and love from my mother, and I swore that when I had children they would never have to wonder if I loved them. The words would be spoken, the hugs given. No matter how angry I ever got with Abbey or the girls, I never went to sleep without telling them I loved them. I never want them to feel the pain and loneliness I had as a child. In spite of this, I do appreciate the gift of my faith that my mother gave me. It has been a guiding principle in the way that I live my life. It has helped me get through the hard times. As I see my mother sitting at that table, not betraying any emotion, I know it is there all covered up. My mother loves me.

Abbey's mother, Elizabeth O'Neill. A polar opposite from my mother, Beth O'Neill knows exactly who she is and raised her daughter the same way. Abbey has always felt her mother was born in the wrong era. Born earlier, she would have been an ardent suffragist. Born later, she would have been a civil rights activist. The Catholicism Beth passed on to Abbey is not just the history and tradition of the Church, it is one of social activism. The real need to do our part to better the world. It is why Abbey understands me so well and why she believes in me as a politician. Together we have tried to pass on both traditions to our daughters. Beth supported Abbey's dreams to have a career in medicine, but more importantly, she supported our decision to get married before Abbey had her M.D. and before I had my Ph.D. She didn't berate us for the fact that Abbey was pregnant. In fact, unlike the way my mother was with Abbey, Beth accepted me into her family with open arms telling me she was going to be thrilled to have another son. I thought it was just a line, I was mistaken. I became Beth's son the day I married Abbey. She taught me that you don't have to give birth to a person to accept them as family. She gave me the hugs a mother gives her child, the hugs I'd missed growing up. I know all the jokes about mother-in-laws but I am proud to call Beth O'Neill 'Mom'.

Elizabeth Anne. Oh God, Liz, my eldest daughter. We were not ready for you, sweetheart. Abbey and I were just graduating from Notre Dame. I was planning on going for my Ph.D.; Abbey was going to medical school. I brought her home to the farm and, on a walk by the pond, I asked her to marry me. We hadn't made love yet, we wanted to wait. But, now that we were engaged, it didn't seem to matter so much. We didn't plan it to happen but this time we couldn't stop, it had been so hard for so long to keep our hands off each other. That first time we shared our bodies we made Elizabeth, and while I was scared when Abbey told me she was pregnant, I have never regretted it for a moment. We just had to get married sooner than we had planned. It meant Abbey had to put off medical school for a couple years but it enabled her to accompany me to London while I got my Ph.D. from the London School of Economics. God, we were just kids. I still remember the awe of watching Abbey's body change. The awe of watching Elizabeth come into the world and holding her for the first time knowing instant love and a surge of protection so strong it nearly brought me to my knees. Elizabeth was the first child to teach me of the unselfishness of parenthood. Her needs consumed Abbey and I. I did my share of the grunt work but laying in bed beside them while Abbey nursed my daughter I would think how much I loved these women in my life.

Words could not convey the joy of fatherhood for me. The excitement of watching my daughter learn to crawl and to take her first steps. The way tears stung my eyes the first time she gave me a gummy drooling smile and called me “dada”. Then there was potty training; the first lost tooth and the way she would scream 'Daddy!' and race into my arms when I got home from work. The love and exuberance that is Elizabeth Bartlet. As she got older things got harder. There were tears over braces, fights over make up, and putting the fear of God into the boys who dared come to my door to take my daughter out on a date. But there was one I wasn't there to put the fear of God into.

Elizabeth was a freshman at Dartmouth when she went to a frat party, got drunk, and drank a laced drink. While she was out of it some nameless bastard took advantage of her. Three months later she came to us in tears telling us she was pregnant and she didn't know who the father was. I was so angry with her that at first I couldn't speak. I looked at her in Abbey’s arms and then she looked right back at me with her crystal blue eyes, my eyes, swimming with tears. "I'm so sorry Daddy," she had said, "I know you and Mom warned me about stuff like this. I am so sorry that I didn't listen. I'm so sorry I disappointed you. I'm so sorry Daddy, but I just don’t know what to do," and she began to cry. This horrible thing had happened to her and she was SORRY for MY pain. That was all it took for my anger to vanish only to be replaced with a horrible raging pain that someone had taken advantage of my little girl that way. I joined them on the couch then, my wife and my daughter and wrapped my arms around both of them.

"You could never disappoint me Elizabeth. I love you. Nothing will ever change that. We’re going to figure out what to do together, all of us." We spent the whole night talking about her options. Yes, all her options, including abortion. Abbey even offered to bring her and stay with her if that was her choice. It was not; she could not bring herself to go against 18 years of religious training and her mother’s fear that if she went through with it there would most probably be psychological ramifications for the rest of her life. So, with abortion out of the picture Abbey and I offered to adopt the baby and raise it ourselves so Elizabeth could finish college. We just could not allow our grandchild, our flesh and blood, to be raised by strangers through adoption. But, that was not her choice either. We had very busy careers and two other daughters at home, Elizabeth was not going to “burden” us with her mistake at least not forever. In the end, she decided to keep her baby with a lot of help and support from us. Abbey and I were overwhelmed by her strength. I remember Abbey saying, "I don't know if could have kept a child conceived under those circumstances." I knew she was remembering a dark time in our marriage a few years back and I took her hand.

Abbey was with Elizabeth in the delivery room while I sat in the waiting room with Ellie and Zoey. This was a new experience for me, I had always been part of the action and it seemed very strange for me to be having a grandchild so young. Hell, I wasn’t even 40 quite yet and my youngest child was only nine years old and was sitting curled up to my side. Most people in the waiting room assumed I was an expectant father and wondered why I wasn’t in the delivery room.

Anabeth Abigail Bartlet spent her first three years with Abbey and I while Liz finished college. Abbey took six months off from her practice to care for Annie while she was a newborn so Elizabeth could start her sophomore year. It was that sophomore year at Dartmouth that she met up with an old high school boyfriend, Doug Westin. Doug fell in love with Elizabeth and, just as importantly, he fell in love with Annie. After their graduation we threw them a big wedding and Doug adopted Annie. I deeply regret that I have never really cared for Doug. I always felt that Elizabeth could have done better. I know she married him more out of shame at her single mother status than out of any great feelings of love. I wanted her to have a magical love affair like the one that her mother and I have, but Liz was more pragmatic. She wanted the stability of a relationship and she wanted a father for Annie and Doug has always treated them both very well, so I have no complaints there. I just wish…I wish she hadn’t settled. But, Elizabeth has made her marriage work. She is so much like her namesake Beth O'Neill. Strong, brave, and courageous.

Eleanor Emily. Ellie. She sits there so quietly. She was always the quiet one. It is disconcerting at times. It is so easy for me to read Abbey, Liz, and Zoey but I have never really gotten the knack of reading this quiet and shy middle daughter of mine. Ellie carries the traits of Abbey and I that are not so easy to see. My intensity. Abbey's seriousness and need for privacy. She also shares Abbey's smart mouth. While Liz and Zoey will come at me at full volume, blazing with fury or indignation, Ellie uses sarcasm to combat me. Abigail uses both.

Ellie. I remember when she was born. Abbey and I were finally at a point where we wanted to enlarge our family. Elizabeth was in grade school. I was teaching and Abbey was quite few years into her residency and ready to take a break. We flushed her birth control pills down the toilet together. We’d had unplanned pregnancy during Abbey’s first year of residency that had resulted in a first trimester miscarriage so we were thrilled that Abbey didn’t have any problems getting pregnant Ellie. A couple of months into the pregnancy she stunned me with the idea of a home birth. We had just moved into the farmhouse and Abbey liked the idea of giving birth in the bedroom where countless Bartlets had been born. She had been very disappointed with what she found to be the cold, clinical birth of Elizabeth, where she hadn’t had any say in how she delivered her child. She wanted a more natural setting where she could plan what kind of birth she wanted. I was against the idea, vehemently against it. It was positively medieval. I wanted Abbey in a hospital surrounded by doctors, nurses, and equipment. Clinical was absolutely fine with me. It wasn't the first or last argument I lost. So, there I was on a snowy December night walking Abbey up and down the hall as her labor progressed. Her best friend, Dr. Millie, who was supposed to deliver this child, was LATE. I had visions of having to deliver the baby myself and ended up having to sit down with my head between my legs to keep from hyperventilating. Beth had come a week earlier to help a very pregnant Abbey with Elizabeth. Thank God she was there to calm the poor little girl who had couldn’t understand why her mommy was crying out so horribly in pain. I had my hands full trying to help Abbey and keep myself together. I didn't have time to comfort Elizabeth.

When Abbey's water broke I put her back into bed. I have never felt so scared. I couldn't deliver a baby. I was an Economics professor for Chrissakes. In between contractions, Abbey was able to tell me what to have ready. The scissors, string, mineral oil, receiving blankets, etc. Having something to do kept me focused on something other than Abbey's groans and cries of pain. Then, much to my relief, an apologetic, snowy Millie arrived. The plows hadn't gone down our road and she'd had to leave her car and walk the rest of the way. Millie took charge and I was able to concentrate on Abbey, on trying to help her breath through the awful contractions. Lord, did Ellie take her time getting here, I’d always been told second babies came faster, but not our Ellie. As Abbey moved into transition and she was crying in agony begging me to help her, begging me to make it stop, I cursed at a God that could make my wife go through this hell. And then Millie was calling me down to where she was between Abbey's thighs and suddenly I was praising Him for creating such a miracle. I could see the baby's head getting bigger and bigger with every contraction.

"Want to deliver your baby, Jed?" Millie asked me. I stared at her horrified.

"I...I can't," I stammered.

"Yes you can. Come here. The baby's head is about to crown."

She had me wash my hands and poured some mineral oil on them. She instructed me to rub the oil between Abbey’s legs where the baby was emerging to lubricate the way and help what had been such a tiny opening stretch to accommodate a baby’s head.

"OK," she said, "with the next contraction, Abbey will push. You need to keep your hand on the head and don't let it come out too fast. We don't want her to tear."

I blanched at the thought but did as told. Within a few minutes, I caught my daughter's warm wet body as she slid from Abbey into my hands. I cut the cord and brought her up to my wife. I was in awe yet again that we created this miracle. Eleanor Emily. I'm sure my mother was pissed her name came second but I wanted to honor my grandmother who was one of the few people in my early life who made me feel loved. The one who had left me her ring to give to the woman I wanted to be my bride. Once Abbey and Ellie were cleaned up, Beth and Elizabeth came in and we all lay cuddled on the bed in front of the fireplace. In spite of my fears it really had been a nice peaceful way to have a child. No doctors or nurses constantly coming in to check Abbey or bother our bonding as a family. I still remember Millie's look of pleasure when we asked her to be Ellie's godmother.

Ellie is so different from me, and lately we seem to have grown apart. Actually, ever since I ran for President. I know she is shy and hates the publicity so I never pushed her to be part of the campaign except for the really big stuff. Lately I have begun to wonder if maybe I should have pushed more. Maybe she feels left out and that is why she doesn't visit as often as I would like. After all, of all my little girls, she was the one who was patient enough to sit through chapter after chapter of the Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables or one of the other many books we had bought for them. We read all the Chronicles of Narnia together the time she had the chicken pox. I miss that. I miss Ellie. If I could get up the strength I would tell her now but I can't seem to stay awake.

Zoey Patricia. My little spitfire. My fighter. She came too early, this youngest daughter of mine. I stood at Abbey's head stroking her forehead while they took Zoey by C-section. Usually the sight of blood makes me sick but I was so scared I would lose Abbey or our baby that everything else paled by comparison. There would be no cozy family gathering on the bed this time. Instead I watched my tiny daughter fight for her life in an incubator hooked to so many tubes it seemed there must not be a part of her little body that did not hurt. I didn't know what to pray for. I wanted my little girl to live so badly I physically hurt, but I also couldn't stand to see her like this knowing that she must be in pain. I wanted so badly to stop that pain. In the end I prayed for her to have the strength to survive and to endure.

It was just as hard if not harder on Abbey. She wanted so badly to cuddle and nurse Zoey as she had Elizabeth and Ellie. She religiously pumped her breasts to keep her milk flowing, determined our daughter would survive. The first time I held Zoey she was still hooked to tubes. She was so fragile; I was terrified I would hurt her. I will never forget the first time Abbey was able to feed her. We had waited so long for this moment. Abbey placed Zoey to her breast and guided her tiny mouth to her nipple. We both held our breath and Zoey began to suckle, not as strong as Elizabeth and Ellie had at first, but it was a definite suckle. Abbey started to cry and I held her hand just watching this amazing sight and allowing myself to believe for the first time that Zoey would survive.

I soon stopped thinking of my youngest daughter as fragile. She became a little tomboy. She was fearless. It wasn't long after we taught her to ride her pony that she was riding in shows wanting to take on bigger horses, higher jumps. While all our daughters carry traits of both Abbey and I, I think Zoey is the most like me. She has a fierce temper and often says things that she regrets. But she is also quick to forgive and forget. Zoey doesn't carry a grudge. She believes she knows what is right and what is wrong and if others don't agree with her, then screw them. I hate that I have had to temper some of that in myself because of politics.

Abigail. What can I say about Dr. Abigail Anne O'Neill Bartlet? My best friend, my partner, my wife, my soulmate, and the love of my life. Mere words cannot describe her. Sexy, classy, tempestuous, flirtatious, passionate, gorgeous, elegant, brilliant, and let’s add the important, great in bed to all her attributes. Even all that doesn't sum up my Abbey. It was Abbey who brought love and sunshine into my cold dark life. She taught me that it was OK to tell someone you love them, that it was not a sign of weakness. She was the most breathtakingly lovely woman I had ever seen. She still is. She is so full of passion and compassion. She is also the strongest, most intelligent woman I have ever met. I knew I wanted to marry her right from the start. I never wanted to be apart from her. That is the worst part about being President, the times when we have to be separated. I remember getting down on one knee by the pond and asking Abbey to spend her life with me. How I held my breath not sure what I would do if she said no. What she did say was, "Of course, I'll marry you Josiah. I thought you'd never ask." She lit up my life with that answer and has continued to do so ever since. The first time we were intimate it was as if we were made to be together. We have learned all about love, intimacy, and passion together over the years.

Abbey has given me so many gifts throughout the years, the most important being her love and our three daughters. After witnessing my first birth it was amazing to me that Abbey would do it again and again. She likes to joke that if I'd been the one to have to give birth Elizabeth would be an only child. It's no joke. She is right. Abbey is an amazing mother. She is everything a mother should be, everything my mother wasn't. She is so open and loving that even today the girls are comfortable in her embrace. She was often torn between her career and motherhood. But she didn’t work full time for the first three years of Elizabeth’s life and she took a full year off after the births of both Ellie and Zoey, cutting back her practice quite a bit after Zoey when she was finished her residency. Still, she worried. She needn't have worried, I think she balanced everything very well. It still amazes me that she could balance a career, motherhood, and being the Governor's wife. It helps that Abbey is centered, the family always came first. It made decisions easy for both of us.

I remember the time she was supposed to speak at some big medical conference in Atlanta but at the same time we found out Bruin, our big bear of a mutt, needed to be put to sleep. He had cancer and was in severe pain. He was 12 years old. We'd had him longer than Ellie, who was eight at the time. In Ellie's world, Bruin had always existed. We were all devastated but Ellie was especially upset. Abbey cancelled on the convention and sat holding Ellie cuddled to her chest, while our daughter sobbed her heart out. Abbey stayed with that dog while they put him down, I couldn't do it. I know how hard it was for her, I could tell from the strain on her face. We buried Bruin's ashes in the back field and I said a prayer. "You make a good priest daddy," Ellie said. Abbey and I looked at each other and smiled at the private joke.

Abbey was always totally open and honest with the girls. She always told them they could discuss anything with her. When they were teenagers, I would hear her in the bedroom with them and they would all be giggling over something. Abbey taught them manners but also independence, self-reliance, compassion for others, and to not let others define them, just to be themselves.

We have made the kind of life and family I dreamed about as a child. A life full of love, laughter, sharing, and yes fighting, but also making up. Abbey and I are both passionate people. Passionate in our beliefs, in our anger, and in our sex life. Even when we are fighting we have great sex. Sometimes it's even better than when we aren't fighting. Sometimes I think we fight just for the hell of it, to give the sex that added edge.

Toby asked me once, way back at the beginning of the campaign, to be totally candid with him. He needed to know if there were going to be any 'bimbo eruptions', I believe was the term he used. He needed to know if I had ever been unfaithful to Abbey so there would not be any surprises. I have to remember he didn't know us then. I think I pretty much ripped his head off. Me? How fucking ridiculous is that?

Were there nights when I was lonely in Washington while Abbey was at home with the girls? You bet. Were there times when beautiful women came on to me? You bet. Power is an incredible aphrodisiac. But, would it be worth it? That was the catch. Would it be worth losing the most beautiful, exciting woman in the world, my best friend, the mother of my children, my whole family, for one night of raising my ego or easing my loneliness? Not a chance. Because I'll tell you there is no way in hell Abbey would stay with me if she ever found out I was screwing around. I know that for a fact because she used almost that same sentence when another politician we knew was caught with his pants down. It would be the ultimate betrayal. I know that. I would never hurt her that way. I would not want to hurt myself that way. Because ultimately that is what would happen. Even if Abbey didn't find out, I would know and that would be enough. The guilt would eat at me. I pledged my love and fidelity to Abigail when I slipped that ring on her finger and I will never break those vows. Why look elsewhere when everything you want or need is right in front of you? Toby understands this now but his ears must have been ringing for days after he asked me that.

Things were not always perfect. There were hard times; times when we struggled; times when grief could have torn us apart but instead made us stronger. Other than the miscarriages, the most difficult thing we ever had to go through was Abbey’s rape. It happened in Boston. She got stuck on an emergency and called to say she was going to spend the night at her sister's apartment, Jane and Pat were gone for the weekend. We had been very busy between work and the girls, and my parents heard me muttering about Abbey staying in the city. They had just stopped over for a visit, but offered to stay with the girls so I could join my wife. I called the hospital to tell her I would be joining her. I remember how she laughed about my mother having Zoey, who had just entered her terrible twos with vengeance, for the whole night.

I was late leaving Manchester and hit commuter traffic on 93 all the way to the city. All the way down I envisioned the romantic, sexy night we would share. I was late getting to the apartment and was surprised when the door to the brownstone swung open when I touched it. I walked into the hallway to see Abbey's purse on the floor, its contents spilled, something wasn't right. I called out her name. I heard a muffled scream from the living room, the sound of something breaking. I called her name again and raced toward the closed doors of the living room and a piercing, soul shattering, anguished scream of 'JED!' filled the quiet night. My adrenaline pumping, I kicked open the door. My blood froze. Everything else I remember is through a red haze of rage. My wife lay face down on the floor, her clothes half torn from her body. The bastard was on top of her, inside of her, RAPING her. He held her head up with a fistful of her hair. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her eyes filled with pain.

I don't remember how I made it across the room but the next thing I knew I had the son of a bitch off her and slammed him into the wall. I have never felt so overwhelmed with fury in my life. I began to punch him over and over and over. I couldn't stop. I didn't hear Abbey screaming for me to stop, that I was going to kill him. I didn't care. I wanted to kill him. I really think I would have killed him if that cop hadn't pulled me off him. I remember looking down at the bastard. He was unconscious. His face was mangled and bleeding but when I turned to see Abbey trying to pull her torn clothes to cover herself, tears streaming down her face, her lip cut and bleeding, bruises marring her creamy flesh, all I felt was a consuming need to finish the job. To kick his fucking head in for what he did to my wife. It scared me that I had it in me to kill.

I moved to Abbey and gently took her into my arms. She let go at that point and began to sob. She sobbed as if her heart would break. She sobbed my name over and over. I told her it was OK, that everything would be OK now. But it wouldn't be, at least not for awhile. There was the rape exam, the nightmares, the guilt, and the fears, hers and mine. Abbey was afraid I would never want her again after seeing what the rapist had done to her. "You told me before what a turn on it was that you are the only man who has ever had me," she had cried, "Now that isn't true."

"It's still true Abbey," I said, lifting her chin to look into her pain filled eyes. "That son of a bitch took you. He did not have you, baby. Only you can give yourself to another."

"I should have heard him Jed, I should have fought him harder when he shoved me into the apartment. I should not have let him rape me." No matter what I or anyone else said to convince her she had done nothing wrong, she still felt that guilt.

My guilt came every night when Abbey would wake up screaming in terror and I would hold her for hours trying to calm her. I had not protected my wife. Had I left sooner I would have been there in time, I could have prevented this. I was afraid that Abbey would never get over this. That every time I tried to make love to her she would see her rapist, that she would not be able to bear my touch.

We both feared that she might get pregnant from the encounter. She wasn't on the Pill because we were trying for one more child. Making things even more horrific was the fact that we had made love that morning. If she were pregnant, we wouldn't know if it were the rapists or mine until she was far enough along for an amniocentesis. We tried not to think or talk about it but when Abbey's period was late, we couldn't help but think about it. I have never been so torn in my life. On the one hand, I was Catholic. It was against my religion to have an abortion even if I was pro-choice. Yet, it made me physically nauseous to think of Abbey pregnant with that son of a bitch's baby. Could I stand there helping her breathe while she delivered another man's child? Could I love the baby because it was part Abbey? Could I look at the child and not see its father? Could I ask Abbey to carry her rapist's child? Could I ask her to have an abortion?

We should have spoken to each other about our feelings and fears, but to speak about it would make it real. I found that Abbey shared my fears when I heard her talking to Millie. Millie was informing her that if she was pregnant and that if abortion was the way she was leaning sooner would be easier on her than later. I will never forget the pain in Abbey's voice. "I could never live with myself if I am pregnant and had an abortion before finding out if it is Jed's or not. I have to wait for the amnio. Oh Millie, I know it's against my faith but how can I carry the baby if it isn't Jed's? Just thinking about it fills me with such anger and hatred. It would kill me so see the disgust in Jed's eyes as I grow bigger. I can't carry another man's child, Millie. I wish I could but I can't," she was crying now and Millie was stroking her arm. "All I can do at this point is pray that Jed made me pregnant that morning before that bastard touched me. Because if it's not his, I am going to abort it."

I was glad that she had come to the same conclusion but I wondered if she would ever be the same after an abortion. Would I ever be the same? Thank God we never had to find out. Three days later we awoke to the realization that Abbey had started her period. I had never been so happy to have my wife start her menstrual cycle. It had been the stress that had made her late. We cried in each other's arms, tears of relief.

Would we have gone through with the abortion? I honestly don't know but it was so important that we had the choice. I will always fight for that choice.

In time we worked through the nightmares, the fear, and the guilt. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. It's no wonder Abbey and I are as strong and solid in our relationship as we are. Through all the joy and all the sorrow, we have never wavered in our commitment to each other.

Yes, all these beautiful women. How they have shaped me and loved me. It wasn't always easy being the only male in house full of women. I have listened to young girl’s despair at ever filling out like their mother. I have soothed their broken hearts, listened to them flare with anger over men or boys who don't think they can do something because they are girls, and fought with them over trying to grow up too soon. I know the female psyche pretty well having read 'girly' books to my daughters since they were little. I have lived with a bathroom crammed with scented bubble baths and lotions, aromatherapy candles, make up, moisturizers, Midol, and tampons. I have lived with all their mood swings, and heard things I have no business hearing because they forget I am in the room, that I am not one of them.

I know Abbey wishes she had given me a son but I couldn't have had a better life than I have with all my women. At that moment Abigail catches my eye.

"Jed! You're awake!" She cries

"Daddy!"

They all rush to my side. Yes, what more could a man want than the adoration of all these beautiful females? They are all smiling down on me, so happy. How can I tell them? I can't feel my legs.

TBC...