by Robin Palmer
“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. For some reason, webcams had this way of making me look like a creature from a science-fiction movie. I’d already had enough of being compared to an alien during this campaign.
“I know Friday went well, but we shouldn’t think we totally have this in the bag,” she warned.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “But maybe we won’t have to worry about that,” I said hopefully. “Maybe Sarah will have the baby in the next few minutes and I can spend a half hour or so bonding with him and I’ll be back by morning.”
Or, then again, because I was me and things rarely ever went the way I hoped or planned, maybe I wouldn’t be back. Maybe, instead, I would have been up all night because even though I finally took Mom’s suggestion and took the inflatable air mattress down to the basement to try to get a little sleep, I could hear Sarah yelling all the way down there.
“What’s his problem?” I asked the next morning as I tried to keep my head from falling in my cereal bowl because I was so tired. “Can’t he just come out already?”
Even though she was on her third cup of coffee, Mom looked like she was about to conk out any second. She shrugged. “Water births are supposed to make it less traumatic for the baby.”
But what about making it less traumatic for the rest of us? The ones who had to stay up all night and miss their school election?
Dad came into the kitchen. Now he looked like someone had taken him out of the washing machine and then run him over with a tractor. “Is she any further along?” Mom asked.
“She’s at nine centimeters,” he said glumly. “And she said that she doesn’t want to see my face again until she’s at ten.”
Mom got up. “Let me see if I can calm her down a little,” she said as she walked toward the bedroom.
Dad was so tired that when he sat down, he downed almost half of Mom’s coffee before remembering that he had given up caffeine ten years ago. “Whoops,” he said, putting the mug down. “So how are you doing, Monkey?”
“Are you still going to call me that after the baby gets here?” I blurted out.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’ve been trying to break myself of that habit, but it’s hard.” After I turned twelve, I had told him that he couldn’t call me that anymore. Especially in public.
“ That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I meant ... are you going to call him that, too?” I asked softly. “Because even though I don’t really like it, it’s still, you know, my nickname. And you can’t just give a person’s nickname to another person even if that other person is a cute baby.”
He reached for my hand. “Honey, are you crying?”
“No,” I scoffed. I reached up and felt my cheeks. Huh. Apparently I was. “Okay, yes,” I sniffled. “It’s probably because I didn’t get any sleep. Sarah’s loud.”
“Come here,” he said, opening up his arms. As I walked over, he pulled me onto his lap. Also something I had told him he wasn’t allowed to do anymore. But right then, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Especially because no one was around to see it. In fact, it felt really nice. “Of course I’m not going to call him Monkey. There’s only one monkey in the world, and that’s you.” He lifted up my chin. “You know that, right?”
“Well, you sure haven’t been acting that way,” I sniffled.
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said on the phone. And you’re right. I haven’t been sensitive to your needs.” He turned my face toward him. “I’m really sorry, Lucy. I guess I’ve been a little preoccupied lately, huh?”
“Try a lot,” I corrected him.
“Honey, not only are you the only monkey in my life, but you’re my firstborn. My girl. And you want to know part of the reason why I meditate every day?”
“Why?”
“So I can keep my heart as big and open as possible so that there’s more than enough room for you, and Sarah, and Ziggy in it,” he explained. “And you know, none of the love I have for you gets taken away and given to him. In fact, it’s the opposite. The more you let yourself love someone, the more there seems to be available to you.”
I tried to figure out exactly how that worked in my head but because (a) it was mathlike, and (b) I was so tired, all it did was give me a headache.
“Are you willing to trust me on that one?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I guess.”
He hugged me. “Good.”
The next scream that came from Sarah was different than the others. It was really loud and really long, like this mating call I had once heard in an Animal Planet special about hyenas. We looked at each other. “I think it’s finally showtime,” Dad said, as he struggled to his feet.
“Dad?” I asked as I began to follow him.
He turned to me. “What, Monkey?”
I smiled. “Nothing. Just checking.”
chapter 12
Dear Dr. Maude,
Because you’ve never had a baby, I’m not sure if you know this or not, but giving birth takes a lot of time. When it’s finally time for me to have a baby, I’m definitely adopting. And not just because there are millions of kids around the world who need homes. I mean, who wants to spend all their time screaming and pushing something the size of a watermelon out of them when they could be doing something a lot more interesting like watching TV?
Because I’ve been up all night, I’m too tired to really get into it right now, but all you really need to know is that even though Ziggy wasn’t supposed to get here for another three weeks, Sarah is in the process of giving birth to him right now. I haven’t gone into the bathroom to see any of it because it just sounds beyond disgusting and I don’t feel like throwing up at this moment. But I can tell you this: From the amount of yelling Sarah is doing, she is NOT having fun.
All I can say is I hope that Ziggy gets her really nice Mother’s Day gifts throughout her life, because as annoying as she can be, she totally deserves it. I’ll even help him pick them out.
Wish me luck—both with the election AND that I’m not forced to cut the umbilical cord. Because that totally would make me throw up.
yours truly,
Lucy B. Parker
I didn’t throw up quite then, but I almost lost my breakfast when Beatrice walked around school with her laptop trying to get me to talk to voters.
“Um, Beatrice?” I yelled into the computer as I stared at the shaky screen. “Can you slow down a bit? I’m starting to feel like I’m on a roller coaster!”
Her face filled the screen. “Sorry. Just trying to hit as many undecided voters as possible,” she replied. “Oh wait—here’s Nicole LeMaire. Talk to her. She loves babies!”
Nicole’s face filled the screen. Or at least her nose did. Should I tell her that she had something hanging out of it or not? If it were me, I’d want to know, but some people got offended by that stuff.
“Hi Nicole! How are you?!” I yelled in my most pleasant please-vote-for-me voice. “I’m not sure who you’ve decided to vote for, but I just wanted to say that if I were there right now—but I’m not because I’m in Massachusetts where my totally cute baby brother is about to be born—” I stood up and brought my laptop toward the bedroom. “Can you hear that? That’s Sarah, my dad’s girlfriend, screaming in pain. Anyway, as I was saying, if I were there, I’d tell you that I sure hope it’s for me. Because if I’m elected president, I plan on—”
“I already cast my vote for Cristina,” she said.
“Oh. Well. Okay. Good thing we live in a democracy and you’re allowed to do that,” I replied.
Her face left the screen and was replaced by Beatrice’s ear. “Okay, this is getting boring. I know—let’s go to the voting booth now and cast your vote. That’ll get us a lot of press.”
“It will?”
“I don’t know. At least it sounds good. Alice and Malia, come on.”
As the four of us moved through the hall, I started feeling more seasick, like when we had taken the ferry over to Ma
rtha’s Vineyard and it had gotten all stormy and the water got all choppy and I ran over to the side and upchucked the chili dog I had just eaten.
“Okay, everyone—hear ye, here ye—Lucy B. Parker is about to cast her vote!” I heard Alice yell.
I put my head in my hands. I wasn’t even there, and I still wanted to crawl under a rock. “Alice, ex-nay on the ‘here ye, here ye’ stuff,” I called out over Sarah’s screaming.
Just then Mom came running out of the room. “Lucy, it’s time! He’s here!”
“What?! Now? But ... I’m not ready to be a sister!” I yelled, all freaked out.
“Well, you can take that up with him in a few years, after he learns how to talk,” she replied. “Do you want to see this or not?”
“Okay, we’re just about to enter the voting booth,” I heard Beatrice say. “Say something to the voters!”
It was bad enough when I had to choose what kind of ice cream I wanted, and now I was being asked to make this kind of decision? Talk about putting someone under pressure. At least I knew what I was going to do.
I stood up. “Beatrice, you’re going to have to cast my vote without me. I have somewhere else I have to be.”
If I found out that someone had the chance to see me be born and her response had been “Nah, I think I’ll skip it. I’m kind of busy at the moment,” my feelings would be really hurt. Not to mention the karma that went along with that would NOT be good.
When I got to the bathroom door, Sarah was midscream while Dad stood beside the bathtub all hunched over as if he was about to catch a football and Mom stood up near Sarah’s head, mopping her forehead with a towel. And then, just as I said, “So has he finally gotten his act together and decided to come out?” there was this noise that sounded partly like a cry and partly like the sound that our old refrigerator used to make before it gave up and conked out for good.
And there he was.
My brother.
Ziggy Elias Fisher-Parker.
Or maybe not, I thought hopefully. “So now that you’ve seen him, are you still thinking that’s the way to go name-wise?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sarah and Dad in unison.
“Okay, okay. Just checking,” I replied.
After everyone had finally stopped crying and the doula had washed him off, and Astrid stood over him waving a feather and mumbling something that she said was a Native American prayer but, if you asked me, sounded a lot more like made-up nonsense, Dad called me over.
“Lucy, come see your brother.”
My brother. I had a brother. And I would have a brother for as long as we were both alive which, because I was only twelve and he was only minutes old, would probably be a long time.
I don’t know why I was so nervous as I walked over. I mean, he was just a baby. It’s not like he could hurt me. But still, my teeth started chattering, which is something they do when I’m really nervous. My hands got all clammy, too. I really, really hoped no one asked me if I wanted to hold him just yet because while I didn’t want to be rude and say no, I’m pretty sure holding a baby when your hands are clammy AND shaking was in the “Don’t” column of “What to Do with a Newborn Baby.”
“Do you want to hold him, Monkey?” Dad asked.
“Um, if it’s okay, I think I’ll wait,” I replied.
“Of course it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulder.
But I did get in a little closer so I could get a better look. And I was totally unprepared for what I found. No one tells you that newborn babies and little old men look a lot alike. It was probably because he had spent so much time in the womb and then in the bathtub, but this particular baby also happened to look like a raisin. However, the fact that raisins are purple, and purple just happens to be my favorite color, made me think that maybe there was hope for me and Ziggy after all.
Another thing no one tells you is that watching a baby is about as interesting as watching a goldfish. Meaning so completely NOT interesting that you wonder why you just spent your allowance on one. All they do is cry and sleep and eat and poop. And the eating part, because it was from Sarah’s boob, was something I did NOT need to see.
So instead of watching that, I sat in the living room and tried not to think about the fact that any minute, I’d be getting a call from Beatrice with the results of the election. Except it turns out that trying not to think is almost as boring as thinking.
Which is why I finally turned on the TV and flipped around until I got to one of Connor’s better movies—Monkeyin’ Around. I was so caught up in watching him try to pass the chimp off as his little sister (when we were hanging out in L.A., he had told me that this particular chimp was a total nightmare and that every time it was time for Connor’s close-up, he’d pitch a total fit) that I barely heard the phone ring. But when I looked down and saw Beatrice’s picture on my phone screen, I forgot all about monkeys and babies and raisins.
As I clicked the phone on, I closed my eyes.
“They finished counting the votes,” said Beatrice.
I knew what was coming. “Well, we definitely tried our hardest,” I said glumly.
“Yup. We sure did,” Beatrice sighed.
“You guys were just awesome,” I said. “Seriously, not only could I have never asked for a greater campaign team, but I couldn’t ask for better friends, either,” I babbled. “With how hard we all worked, we really should have won—”
“Yeah. Which is why it’s a good thing.... WE DID!” she screeched.
All the blood from my head rushed down to my feet in under two seconds. “Wait a minute—what?!”
“You, Lucy B. Parker, are the new seventh-grade class president!” she screamed.
“I ... what ... how ...” I stuttered as I turned around in circles.
“She said,” came another voice, “you’re the new seventh-grade class president!”
I stopped turning. “Laurel? What are you doing there?”
“You think I’d miss this?” she laughed.
“But ... you’re supposed to be shooting today.”
“That’s one of the good things about being the star of your own show. When you ask if you can leave early because you have a family event, they kind of have to say yes,” she said.
If anyone had told me a year before that Laurel Moses would leave the set of her TV show to go hang out at a school and wait for election results for me, I would’ve said they were completely crazy. And even crazier was the fact that when she said that she and I were family, she was right.
“So how does it feel?” she asked.
I thought about it. “It actually ... doesn’t yet,” I admitted.
She laughed. “Well, let’s hope it does in a half hour, because that’s when you have to give your acceptance speech.”
A baby brother, an election win, and an acceptance speech all in one day? How much could a girl take?
And when that baby brother is howling in the background as you’re staring at a computer screen trying to Skype your acceptance speech, you feel like you can take even less.
“As I was saying,” I shouted into the computer, “I am beyond grateful that the people have spoken and they have spoken me. Wait, that’s not right. I mean, they have chosen me! And the first thing I’m going to do once I get back to school is—”
The crying got louder as Dad paced around the living room jiggling Ziggy. I turned to him. “Um, Dad? I’m kind of in the middle of my acceptance speech here,” I whispered.
“What, Monkey? I can’t hear you! The baby’s crying!” he yelled over the wailing.
I slumped down. Great. Now the entire seventh grade knew that my dad called me “Monkey.” Just what you wanted a president to be called.
“Well, can you just—” I started to say.
“I can’t hear you! I’ll just come over to you ...”
Then, as he walked over, the weirdest thing happened—Ziggy started to get quiet. And by the time he was standing in front of me, Ziggy had shu
t up almost completely except for a few yowls here and there.
“Lucy, it’s like you’re a ... baby whisperer!” he exclaimed.
Huh. It seemed like he might be right. Which would have been really interesting ... if I wasn’t in the middle of my acceptance speech.
But Dad was oblivious and just held Ziggy out toward me. And I just reached out and took him. It was like I couldn’t control my arms, they just ... opened. And when Dad placed Ziggy in them, it was like how those two halves of those “BFF” heart charms work. He just ... fit in them. And they wrapped around him in such a way that he was really snug and there was no way I was going to drop him or touch that spot on the top of his head where I could hurt his brain.
Apparently, I knew how to hold a baby.
Who knew?
And then, the yowling stopped and turned into that refrigerator sound, and soon enough even that stopped, and then there was nothing but the teensiest, softest sound of air going in and out of his nostrils as he fell asleep.
I was so amazed by my magic powers that I totally forget about my speech. That is until Alice yelled “Lucy? Lucy?! Where are you? Are you okay? Did something happen? Why did that baby finally stop crying?! Is he okay?! Is he choking on something because, you know, that happens a lot to babies—they choke and then you have to do that Hemlock thingy—”
But even through all of Alice’s high-pitched screeching, Ziggy kept sleeping. “Alice, he’s fine,” I whispered. “He’s just sleeping.” As I put my finger toward his tiny little fist, he grabbed it. Without even opening his eyes. The feeling of his tiny fingers wrapping around it was the coolest feeling in the entire world.
And not only that, but his skin didn’t feel raisin-y at all. Instead, it was super-soft, like my leg had been when I shaved it the first time over the summer. I looked up at the screen where I saw Laurel wiping her eyes. “If it’s okay with everyone, I’d like to wait until I get back to New York to give my speech,” I whispered. “ ’ Cause right now I’d like to hang out with my brother.” I looked at him. “Ziggy.”