Read Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Online
Authors: Vi Grim
Tags: #coming of age, #pregnancy, #emily taylor, #pregnancy and childbirth, #vi grim, #age 14 to adult, #the teenage mum, #young mum
Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum (12 page)
She giggles at
me as she sticks the fang
impossibly far into her mouth, then starts prodding Enzo
with it.
had enough of you!' I’m so crabby sometimes. I'm such a bad, bad
mum.
'Enzo,' I
whisper. 'R
emember your
gravity.'
pocket and plays gently with Nelly, moving around slowly to keep
her entertained.
Negrita comes out of nowhere
and pounces, grabbing Enzo out of the air and rolling over on the
floor gripping him with her claws. Nelly giggles and saying, 'Zo,
zo, zo, zo,zo,' struggles to her feet and stands there
wobbling.
'You star Nelly, you stood up,
you clever thing,' I say in my baby voice. 'Come to Mum.'
She wobbles a bit more, falls
back down on her bottom, then crawls off at full speed after
Enzo.
Nel stands more and more, pulling herself up against the bits of
driftwood in the kitchen or using my leg as a handhold. She totters
there for a moment then falls over. Her head is black and blue.
I've used my entire supply of arnica and are trying to get hold of
some more. She's going to get brain damage. If I was a good mum,
I'd get her a crash helmet. She loves me to hold her hands so she
can walk around the house and garden. My patience only goes so far
and I usually end up curled up on my old sofa, hiding my head in
book, hoping she will find someone else to play with.
She will have someone soon,
Number 2 is on the way and my little bump grows by the day.
sex. I would love to get Zula up again, but I don't want to push my
luck, something might go wrong. Jesus is not my type. I'd love to
do it with Azziz but it would never last. My instincts say stay
clear. I could go to Zwingly, with all the wild rock stars and
artists but I don't know what I'd do if I saw James. I don't want
to go to his asteroid, not yet. I click my fingers to get the worm
and look for men on Earth. There's lots of them and I'd love to try
some of them out. Some lucky ones have girlfriends who take care of
their needs but most of them have to look after themselves most of
the time. They seem to wank every night. Does the operating manual
say, 'Equipment must be tested daily?' If they all had girlfriends
there would be zillions of babies on Earth.
I'm watching one, fascinated,
when Pollux whispers quietly to me, 'He's like the mad robot.'
'The mad robot?' I ask.
'Yes, the mad robot,' he says.
'He pulled himself to pieces.'
When I've stopped laughing, I
say, 'Pollux, I'm having a private moment. No peeking!'
'Sorry, we slugs see
everything; it's what we do. If it's private, I keep it to myself
and don't broadcast it on the web.'
'I should hope not!'
I've forgotten about slugs and are back in a world filled with
gorgeous naked men. With the worm I can see, I can smell and I can
hear. I'm there snuggled up beside them but I can't touch. I get
all hot. I touch myself gently. It feels so good. Just one click of
my fingers and I'll be there.
'Don't,' says Pollux.
He really knows how to take the
heat out of the moment.
'Mind your own business,' I
snap.
'Emily, be careful. You might
get pregnant.'
'I am pregnant.'
'You might catch horrible
diseases.'
'He looks healthy to me.'
'He might be a psycho
killer.'
'He's lovely, he's dreaming of
the girl that sits opposite him on the train.'
'He's got crabs.'
'Urrrrgh, I'll keep my
distance. Now go away!'
Slugs, what can you do with
them!
where I was before, breathing deeply and drifting away into another
world. I push the girl in his dreams aside and slip in there
myself. He's a little surprised at first, then quickly takes a
shine to me. Tart. I might visit him again sometime, he's cute.
I'll try out some others first.
Nelly and me
visit Castor and go shopping. With the days drawing in and cooler
weather on the way, Nel's going to need some clothes. She's toilet
trained. We got that sorted early on. She has the odd little
accident, but usually it's my fault because I forget. The cleaning
up is like my punishment for not paying attention. Being toilet
trained, she can have clothes that fit nicely, like have a little
pair of knickers
and some
leggings rather than the huge all in one that's needed to
accommodate a full nappy.
Using the virtual model, she tries on the clothes and jumps around
in them to see how they fit. Although all she can say is, 'Zo, zo,
zo,' and, 'Ma, ma, ma,' I can see pretty quickly if she likes an
outfit or not. Once we’ve put the order in, I remember her
birthday. It's still a little way off but I need to get her a
present. What in the world would she like?
Castor and me have a look to
see what one year olds are playing with. In Botswana the kids are
having great fun playing with empty plastic coke bottles; in Korea
they're virtual, the babies are virtual and so are the toys; in
Manchester they have bright coloured plastic things with batteries
in that flash and whistle and talk back to you. Some of the dolls
even pee their pants. I wonder if they do number twos as well; and,
in the highlands of New Guinea they're playing with their great
grandfather's fibula. I should really just drink a bottle of coke
and give her the empty but I can't resist buying her the obscene
plastic flashy thing. She's my first baby after all, and it's her
first birthday. You are only one once.
walk months ago but she's still not there. It's December and her
birthday is almost upon us. Jesus suggests having a big party for
her birthday, rather than his.
'We can't have two parties in
two weeks,' he says. 'Let's celebrate her birthday, it's
special'
It is. 'Let's,' I say. It seems
a good idea, then I think about it a bit more. 'Does this mean
you're cancelling Christmas?'
'Yes.'
'You can't cancel
Christmas.'
'It's my birthday; I can do
what I like.'
'No you can't, I like
Christmas. Let's have dinner at my place.'
'Let's.'
I glimpse something out
of the corner of my eye. I can't believe it; she's
walking!
'Look, look, look!' I say,
grabbing Jesus's arm. 'She's coming to see us.'
Nelly totters over to us and
hangs onto Jesus's knee. She looks ever so proud of herself.
Turning to me, she says, 'Ma, ma, mama,' and staggers across to
me.
She's so clever. I do feel a
little sad though, I wish she could have the chance to say, 'Da,
da, dada.'
before. Nelly's one today and I want to show her off. Mum would go
all gooey and I could tease Dad about being a granddad. He looks
the part now that I've given him lots of grey hair.
her birthday, we keep it top secret until after she's had her
afternoon nap. I walk along the beach carrying her with Enzo and
Negrita chasing around my ankles doing their best to trip me up.
It's hard work, I'm six months pregnant and Nelly's getting heavy.
I'm tempted to teleport but remember my kung fu training. I need to
push myself; I need to suffer.
'No you don't,' says Castor.
'Stop, it's not you that's suffering; it's your baby. You need to
take care of her.'
'Her?' I say.
'Ooops,' says Castor, sounding
sheepish.
'That's okay; you're just
trying to help. You're right; I need to take care of me, I need to
look after her.'
I'd hoped that she was a boy.
I'd love to have a little Zula running about up here. Castor says
she's okay and there's nothing wrong with her, that's the main
thing.
Azziz's cafe for Nelly's birthday, her, me, Jesus, Azziz and
Janice. It's a nice surprise to see Janice; I haven't seen her in
ages. She's looking really healthy, like glowing. She's got a bit
of a bump too.
She smiles and says, 'It's
contagious!'
I look at Azziz and give
him a wink. He gives me a little nod back. It's him; he's the dad!
I wonder if the baby will have special powers.
presents but everyone has bought a little something. I don't want a
house full of junk, but it looks like it is going to be. With a bit
of help from me, Nelly tears the wrapping paper off the presents.
There's a lovely little doll from Janice, a dinosaur from Azziz and
crayons and paints from Jesus. Nel chews on the dinosaur and helps
me to open the big box with the flashy thing. It's wonderful, like
a cross between a pinball machine and a stove. It has drawers and
doors and lights and buzzers and spinny things. I play with it and
Nel plays in the empty box. She spends hours climbing in and out
and playing peek-a-boo. The birthday cake looks so cute with just
one little candle. We wash it down with hot tea while Nel smears
her piece all over the flashy thing.
After sunset, Azziz and Jesus's
guests start arriving. It's great to see everyone but I feel
shattered. Nel and me leave them to party and head for home and a
comfy bed.
She chews on them, posts them into the wood basket and draws on the
walls with them. I try giving her paper but she prefers the bigger
canvas. I'm so proud of my little graffiti artist that I leave her
to it. Just one wall in the living room, that's all she's getting.
When she's having her nap, I try to clean it off. As well as being
carbon neutral, non-toxic, eco-friendly and ethically and
sustainability produced, the crayons are also permanent. Nothing
will move them. I scrub, I brush, I wipe, I use nasty products that
take the skin off my hands but nothing will move them. I slip them
into the bin and hide the paints in a high cupboard for when she's
much, much bigger.
Nel adores the box the flashy
thing came in. She plays with it all day, she puts things in it and
she sleeps in it.
Using hot soapy
water, I try to remove the chocolate cake that is smeared all over
the flashy thing and has cemented itself into the rollers and
spinny bits. The water gets into the workings and the thing goes
haywire, flashing and buzzing, counting to ten in an annoying
American accent and playing
Old McDonald had a farm
in Chinese. I bash it and hold it upside down and shake it
but it won't stop. It's driving me crazy. Using my fang, I prise
open the battery compartment and knock the batteries out sending
them rolling in all directions across the floor. Silence,
yes.
Nelly
laughs
a deep rumbling belly
laugh; Oh, mum you are so funny! She collects the batteries up and,
after sucking on them, tries to put them in the flashy thing. No,
no, no, I've had enough of it. Being the good mum I am, I stick the
batteries back in and it buzzes and flashes and vibrates and counts
to ten in that really annoying accent.
say, talking to the cooker. 'If he was my husband, I'd have killed
him long ago.'
'Dead, he's dead,' says Pollux.
'He was murdered by his wife.'
'Good,' I say, feeling
strangely satisfied.
Nelly kicks and knocks and
shakes the flashy thing and bashes the battery compartment with her
dinosaur, saying, 'Kill, kill, kill.' I must be more careful what I
say and do in front of her.
It's driving me
nanas. She plays with it, and plays with it, then plays with it
some more. She has managed to get rid of the American and now
there's a man reciting
Hickory dickory dock
in Chinese. I'm sure his wife killed him as well. Maybe
Enzo can distract her. I let him out of his antimatter cage and he
whizzes over to Nelly. He has a soft spot for her, I can tell. She
pokes and prods the flashy thing and bashes it with her dinosaur
while Enzo hovers about, vying for her attention. I nip out for
just a second to put a pooey blanket in the tub to soak. When I
come back, there's silence. The flashy thing has gone. Big, bright,
flashy things don't just vanish into thin air, not unless there's a
black hole around! I'm glad to see the back of it.
seriously mobile. She disappears on me, and I run around panicking
like a headless chook until I find her on the beach eating dead
fish. Sometimes she is truly horrible; she does the most disgusting
things. I barricade the front door with a driftwood stump, figuring
that it will keep me agile having to clamber over it each time I
come and go. I must admit that now I'm pregnant again, I do
teleport about the place. Sometimes I make a cup of tea, then
checking she's busy, click my fingers and have a precious moment of
peace and quiet, all alone on the battered old sofa
outside.
Christmas Day and Jesus, Azziz and Janice arrive tousled and
dripping wet at my door early in the afternoon. I throw a couple of
extra logs on the fire and mix them a stiff hot toddy, and make a
hot choccy for me.
I add an extra slug of whiskey
and say, 'This'll warm your cockles. Happy Birthday Jesus!'
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk,
clunk, clunk.
We tap our mugs together and
drink to Jesus's good health.
We have a big fat roast
chicken, with stuffing and Yorkshire puds and lashings of gravy.
After a long siesta I bring in the Christmas cake. We sing happy
birthday and Jesus makes a wish and blows out the candles.
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