Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Too Many Babies

(Behind me, someone whispered, "Funny, I thought only we could prevent forest fires." Someone else giggled. Mrs. Boyden didn't notice.)

"Any questions?" our teacher asked.

As you can imagine, nearly everybody raised a hand.

"Shawna?" said Mrs. Boyden.

"Do we really have to take our eggs to the doctor?" she asked. "I might feel sort of silly. Like, what will the pediatrician think?"

Mrs. Boyden closed her eyes momentarily. "No, you don't actually have to take your egg to a doctor. But you are going to be a mother for a month, so I expect you to know when

and why your child might need to see a doctor. Remember to plan for checkups."

Logan nudged me. "How are we supposed to feed these eggs?" he asked.

I shrugged.

Shawna raised her hand again and spoke without waiting to be called on. "About food — " she began to say.

"No, you do not need to prepare food and pretend to feed your egg," Mrs. Boy den broke in. "Let me explain the project in more detail. When you leave this room at the end of the period, either you or your partner — your spouse — must watch over your child every moment. You wouldn't leave an infant unattended, so do not stash your egg in your locker during school hours. The egg will accompany you to classes. You must also tend to your egg after school and at night."

"Hey, what about after-school sports?" exclaimed a boy in the front row. "I can't watch an egg while I'm at baseball practice."

"Ask your wife to watch your child, then," said Mrs. Boy den.

"But I take piano lessons," spoke up the wife. She hesitated, then added, "I guess I could bring the egg with me."

Mrs. Boyden nodded. "That would be an acceptable solution, as long as you keep your eye on the baby throughout the lesson."

Mrs. Boy den mentioned some facts about babies. Not everyone was aware, for example, that infants cannot hold their own bottles. "What does that tell you about feeding your baby?" asked Mrs. Boyden.

"I guess we have to be with our egg at mealtimes," spoke up Trevor Sandbourne. "The baby can't eat by itself."

"Right. In fact, you need to hold the egg," pointed out Mrs. Boyden. "Infants can't sit up, either. Understand?" We nodded. "One last thing," our teacher went on, glancing at the clock. "From here on in, I would like you to refer to your children as children, rather than as eggs." Mrs. Boyden didn't explain this — the bell rang just as she finished her sentence — so I didn't have a chance to ask her why we weren't supposed to call our eggs eggs.

Around me, my classmates were getting to their feet. But not Logan. He turned to me with this incredible horrified expression on his face. Then he looked at our egg. I mean, our child. It was resting on my desk inside a little barricade I had created with my notebook, pocketbook, and two textbooks. For the time being it was safe, but —

"We can't carry that, um . . . we can't carry that around all day," said Logan, pointing at our child.

"Just what I was thinking," I answered. "But we have to."

"Yeah. Okay. Where will it be safe? In my backpack?"

"Not the way you sling that thing around. I'll put our child in my purse. She'll be safe there."

"Are you sure she won't suffocate? And how do you know it's a girl?"

"I don't. I just want a girl. And she won't suffocate. My bag doesn't close, see?" (My purse was a big woven bag. It was great for school because I could toss lots of stuff into it, and I didn't have to worry about zipping or unzipping it all day.)

"Okay," said Logan uncertainly.

"Hey, come on, this is going to be fun," I told him. I was standing up, settling our daughter in my purse.

"But what about gym? You and I have gym at the same time now. What are we going to do with her then? I'll be playing baseball. I can't bring her out on the field with me. It's too hot. Plus, I'd probably sit on her."

"Don't panic," I said, although I felt a teensy bit panicky myself. "I'll be doing aerobics in my gym class. I'll bring my bag with me and leave it where I can see it. She'll be fine."

"All right. I guess I'm just a nervous father."

"Well, relax. You're around kids all the time.

You're great with them. Pretend you're babysitting or something."

Logan relaxed. He looked fondly at our child, now nestled on a wad of Kleenex in my purse. "Maybe we should name her," he suggested.

"Yes, but not now, dear. We're going to be late for our next class." I picked up my books and slipped my purse over my shoulder.

Logan peered worriedly inside the bag. "Take care of our child," he said. "Be particularly careful during gym. Why don't you give her to me at lunch and I'll watch her for the rest of the day?"

"Oh, no," I said. "You are not putting our daughter in your backpack. This afternoon we'll get together and figure out a way to carry her around. I don't mind watching her today."

I had thought I might feel silly worrying about our child all day. I mean, how was I supposed to explain to my gym teacher that I needed to keep my purse nearby during aerobics so that I could baby-sit for an egg? But of course I wasn't the only student with that problem. A bunch of other girls who had also attended their Modern Living classes earlier that day were in the same situation. And I saw a couple of them just set their eggs on the floor and leave them. How would they be able

to tell them apart at the end of class?

"Logan!" I exclaimed, when I met him in the cafeteria at lunch time. "We have to mark our baby or something. What if she got lost? We wouldn't be able to tell her from any other egg. I mean, baby."

"This afternoon we'll paint her with food coloring," said Logan. "It's painless and non-toxic. You have to think of those things."

I nodded. "Listen, I'm sure she's hungry by now. Why don't you eat while I feed her? Then I'll eat while you finish feeding her. We should probably feed her again at . . ."

Chapter 6.

Well, of all things. Alan Gray has been Kristy's enemy (okay, her pest) for as long as I can remember. And who does she wind up marrying in her Modern Living class? Alan. How unfair.

How unfortunate. Kristy had a cow.

But that was on the day they got married. On the day they became parents, Kristy changed her mind about Alan. He turned out to be a pretty good father. First of all, he named Izzy.

"A son called Izzy," he had said dreamily to Kristy as he'd held his child for the first time.

"Izzy?" repeated Kristy. "What kind of name is that? Especially for a boy. I never heard of a boy named Izzy."

"It's short for, um . . ."

"It's short for Isabelle or Isadora or Elizabeth," said Kristy.

"Oh, it must be short for some boy's name," said Alan offhandedly. "Anyway, don't you think it's a nice name?"

"It is sort of cute," Kristy had agreed, pleased that Alan was at least taking an interest in the project.

By Tuesday, the day of Kristy's job at the Papadakises', both she and Alan were taking more than a little interest in Izzy. They had

fixed this elaborate "environment" for him in a shoe box. The box was lined with pieces of flannel so Izzy would always be comfortable. The sides of the box were covered with felt so Izzy wouldn't hurt himself if he bumped into a wall. Alan had placed a tiny music box in the environment so Izzy would feel comforted and develop an appreciation for music. And Kristy had stuck tiny charts and pictures on the felt so Izzy's learning cells would be stimulated. She claimed she read aloud to him at night, but I don't know.

Also, unlike a lot of the couples in Modern Living, Kristy and Alan fought over who got to take their child home after school (as opposed to who got stuck with him after school). They were conscientious parents. Which is why Kristy never even considered leaving Izzy at her house while she went to the Papadak-ises'. Of course he went along with her.