Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Too Many Babies

"I'll take her," I said. "I'm baby-sitting for Rose and Ricky after school, but that shouldn't be a problem. It'll probably be easier for me to take care of three infants than for you to take care of one infant and two active kids. I mean, the twins can't walk yet. How much

harder could three babies be than two?"

I found out at the Salems' house. Three could be plenty harder than two, and even two could be ... a nightmare.

The bad dream began shortly after Mrs. Salem left the house, when Ricky woke up from his nap.

He woke up crying.

I had been sitting in the kitchen with Sam-mie's basket in my lap (while supposedly I gave Sammie a bottle), when I heard snuffles and tears from the twins' bedroom.

"I'm coming!" I called gently, so as not to wake the other twin.

I stood up. "Sorry, Sammie," I said. "You'll have to finish your bottle later." I knew that wasn't quite fair. If Sammie had been a real infant, I would have had to figure out how to feed her and rush upstairs. As it was, I had to bring her with me.

I entered the babies' room and found a very unhappy Ricky. He was sitting at one end of the crib, wailing, tears streaming down his face.

"Shh, Ricky, shh," I whispered. "What's the matter?"

I set Sammie on the changing table and picked up Ricky. I rocked him and walked him around the room until I realized that Rose was stirring. Then I took him into the hallway —

and realized I'd left Sammie behind. An infant should never be left on a changing table unattended. So I went back to retrieve her, and Ricky's cries woke Rose, who also began to cry.

"Hey, come on, you guys. I can't hold both of you," I said, remembering at the same time that I hadn't finished feeding Sammie. Then the thought occurred to me that the twins were probably hungry. Also, that they could hold their own bottles. So I settled the babies in their high chairs and handed each one a bottle. Perfect. They could feed themselves while I fed Sammie.

Well, that worked in theory. In reality, Rose continued to fuss, so I held Sammie in my lap and fed Rose myself. This arrangement lasted until Ricky threw his bottle on the floor.

I stopped what I was doing, picked it up, handed it to him, and returned to Rose. Ricky threw down the bottle again. I decided Sammie had eaten enough and stood between the twins, holding Rose's bottle with my right hand and Ricky's with my left.

When the bottles were empty, I stepped back and examined the babies.

"You guys look simply delightful," I told them. (I didn't mean it.)

They were far from the beautiful babies I'd dressed on my last sitting job. They were

wearing rumpled T-shirts and damp diapers. Their cheeks were tearstained and their chins were milk-covered.

"Time to fix you up," I said decisively.

With difficulty, I returned Sammie, Rose, and Ricky to the twins' room. I set Rose in her crib, Sammie on the windowsill, and Ricky on the changing table. I removed Ricky's wet diaper.

"Wah!" he wailed.

He cried the entire time I changed him.

"You aren't getting sick, are you?" I asked. I felt his forehead. No temperature. And his appetite had seemed fine. When he was dry and powdered, I returned him to his crib and placed Rose on the table. She cried mightily while I changed her.

"Having a bad day?" I said to the twins.

They stared at me from tear-filled eyes.

At least their bottoms were dry.

"How about a walk?" I suggested. Walks are good for stopping tears.

I removed two lovely outfits from the closet. For Rose, a white ruffled dress with matching panties and a hat, and her pink shoes. For Ricky, a frog jumpsuit with a matching shirt and hat, and his tiny high-topped sneakers.

The babies eyed all those clothes warily. They turned on the tears before I'd even so

much as lifted Ricky's arms. In the end, they left the house wearing clean T-shirts, fresh pants, and socks. No earrings or frills for Rose. No hat for either of them. Not even shoes. At least they'd whittled down their crying to sniffles and hiccups. They weren't happy, but they were quiet.

I hung Sammie's basket over a handle of the double stroller. Then I set out with the three babies. For awhile, they were quiet. They seemed content. I managed to convince myself that Sammie had had enough to eat and I hadn't neglected her too badly. I relaxed.

And Rose began bumping back and forth in her seat and making these awful whiny noises. She wasn't exactly crying, but —

Time for a distraction technique. "What a beautiful day!" I exclaimed. I pointed to the sky. "Look, I see a bird. Bird."

"Ba!" said Rose.

"That's right. Bird. And there's a cloud."

We stopped next to a garden. "Ooh, pretty flowers," I said.

Ricky reached for a tulip, got a grip on the stem, and pulled.

The plant uprooted, sending dirt flying.

"Ricky!" I cried. I whirled around and looked at the house beyond the garden. What if someone had seen us? "Ricky!" I said again.

"No, no, no!" I took the flower from him and dropped it in the garden. I tried to bury it under some leaves and mulch. Then for good measure, I said "No!" to Ricky once more.

Both babies, looking bewildered, burst into tears.

Uh-oh. "Sorry, Ricky. I'm sorry," I said. "Rose, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. But Ricky, you can't go around pulling up plants. That flower isn't yours. It belongs to someone else." (Like he could really understand me.)

I wheeled the stroller away quickly and hurried down the sidewalk with my cargo of crying babies. If Logan had been at home, I might have phoned him and asked him to come get Sammie. But I coped as well as I could.

"That was a nightmare, all right," Dawn said that evening, when I described my job at the Salems' to her.

"Yeah. I guess it could have been worse, though."

"How? If the house had burned down?"

"No, if, um, well, I'm not sure. I mean, this just wasn't realistic, that's all. I don't usually baby-sit for three infants at once. I have to admit, I thought the job wouldn't be bad since the babies can't walk. I should have realized how silly that is. I still have only one pair of

hands, and most people take care of just one baby at a time. Anyway, nothing bad actually happened this afternoon. The babies were fussy, but you have to expect that. I still want a little sister, don't you? A real one, I mean. Not an egg one. Even a little brother would be okay."

"Yeah, I still want a sister or brother," Dawn replied. "And you know what came in the mail today?"

"What?"

"The Kumbel catalog."

"The Kumbel catalog?" I shrieked. The Kumbel catalog sells everything. Dawn knows what my favorite section is. Baby supplies and furnishings. "Where is it?"

"In my room. I'll go get it." Dawn dashed down the hallway, then returned to my bedroom, clutching the fat catalog.

I found the baby section in about three seconds. "Aw, look!" I exclaimed. "Look at that crib. It would be perfect for a girl or a boy. White with yellow stars and a moon."

"It is adorable," agreed Dawn. "And we could get that matching dresser and rocking chair. A yellow-and-white baby's room would be so cute."

"If Dad and Sharon had a baby," I said thoughtfully, "I guess you and I would end

up sharing a room again." (We had tried that once. It had not worked.) "My room would become the baby's room."

"No, the baby could have Jeff's room, I think."

"Oh, whatever. Hey, look at that! A baby's lamp with a stars-and-moon shade. Tara would have to have that."

"Tara?" said three voices.

Darn it. Dad and Sharon had overheard us talking again.

"Yeah. Our . . . baby sister?" I ventured.

"No," said Dad.

"No way," said Sharon.

"Double darn," I replied.

Chapter 8.

Ten people attended the next meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Seven humans and three infants. (Okay, three eggs.) Sammie, Izzy, and Bobby.