Baby Botch

She had always wanted a family. She had always wanted a house, with a yard for the kids, a big kitchen for the kids and lots of space for the kids to play. But besides her dream of the prefect house for her and her family, she had always wanted babies. Big plump, pink babies; cherubs. She wanted lots and lots of perfect babies.

So, she started early. As soon as she could, she started popping them out. The first baby was with her first long term boyfriend, David. She and David had gotten a small place. Nothing like she had dreamed of, with a big backyard; but it made them happy and gave them what they needed. However, David wasn’t always there for her. He had friends, tons of them and he had sports. He never was that good at sports, but he managed to be on a number of soccer and football teams that him and his friends erected in parks, with beers in hand, in the late afternoon. So when she popped out her first baby, David was in a park playing football, probably drunk. During labor she closed her eyes and wished that David would appear in the doorway. She wished he could see their child come into the world and clap when they decided on the cherub baby’s name, Shasta-- just like David’s favorite mountain. But of course none of that happened. David never did show up, and she gave up on trying to telepathically summon him by closing her eyes and wishing. When the nurse appeared holding baby Shasta, she was overjoyed, almost forgetting about David. Leaving the hospital, she and Shasta made their way to their small apartment. All she could do was look at her cherub baby. Shasta was pink, and soft and perfect. Shasta was everything she had wanted. But the fact that David was still not around continued to loom over her.

A few weeks later when David had still not come home she and Shasta packed up the stroller and headed towards the park where she knew David would be. The field they came to was light brown and muddy from the fall weather. She pushed her stroller closer towards the group of athletes far across the field. In tow, along with her and Shasta, were friends, family, and neighbors, even people she didn’t really know. They stood in crowds behind her-- an ocean of people. Finally, she came upon David. Noticing her and the baby, he groggily walked towards them. He was covered in mud from the grass and hadn’t washed in weeks. But she ran towards him crying and clinging, gesturing towards Shasta. She handed him the birth certificate, and he read it slowly. The people watched.
            “Shata?” he raged “You named our first born daughter Shata?” The ground shook with his anger and the sky immediately became two shades darker. She burst into tears. How could she have done that? How could she have not noticed such a big mistake? She looked at the birth certificate and read the name slowly over and over again. Sure enough, the nurse had forgotten to add the second “s” and it had gone unnoticed.  David was furious; no daughter of his was to be named Shata. She continued to cry, and soon enough Shata had started crying as well. David had gone back to his soccer game. She hoped he would come back to her, happy to have a daughter, even if she was named Shata. Then, she and Shata turned around and strolled away, leaving the ocean of onlookers silent and still, just watching.

Shata lived a great first month of her life, and then David came back. Drunk and dirty, he meandered back into Shata’s life when his month-long soccer game permitted him to. His bang on the front door made her shudder and Shata cry. She crossed her fingers in hope for the best. But when David arrived home he threw Shata in the basement and went on with life. He was overly in love with her all over again and she fell for it, almost forgetting about her precious baby in the basement. Although David wanted a baby, he never mentioned Shata; he only asked to make more children or to try again. So they tried again, and nine months later she popped out another. David was quick to name it Joseph and to double-check the birth certificate. He was even at the birth and surprised her with a big house, with a big yard and a big living room for playing. She couldn’t believe her luck. And although she sometimes still dreamed about Shata, she felt her life was going very well. She was happy that David was no longer playing soccer in the park with his friends.

However, despite the fact that they got Joseph right on the birth certificate, nothing was right about the child. He had two rows of razor sharp teeth and black beady eyes. And his skin was tinted blue—something some babies grow out of, but definitely not Joseph. In fact it seemed to get deeper as the months went by. By the time Joseph grew to be truly hideous, David was out playing soccer with his friends again.

Then one day, a few months after their move from Jaynes to their big family home, David reappeared, banging furiously on the wooden door. She opened the door and David told her to immediately throw Joseph in the basement. Shata was seven now, and definitely old enough to take care of herself and her hideous baby brother Joseph.  So, like always, she obeyed. She cried as she dragged the flailing one year old down the dungeonous basement steps. David stood at the top, the light from the kitchen glowing around his head.

And just like last time, within a few months she had moved on with life. She and David were happy and, again, although she dreamed of her children in the basement at times, she and David were caught up with the idea of more babies. So they continued to make babies and finally, a few months post Joseph, they produced their next. This one was blonde and blue-eyed, just like a baby doll, and had the prettiest pink baby lips anyone could ever think of. David named it Dolly, triple checking the birth certificate, and in the hospital bed, she crossed her fingers in hopes of no more soccer games or late night basement visits.

She and David and Dolly grew to be a happy little family, in a house meant for at least ten. She was happy if David was happy, and David was happy, so she was happy. Dolly grew up slowly, and she and David savored every Kodak moment. Dolly’s hair grew blonde and curly, and her blue eyes grew to look even more like a doll’s. Her baby dreams were finally coming true. She’d tried a dozen times and failed, but Dolly seemed to be the perfect baby: a good sleeper, a pretty face, not even a crier. And since Dolly, she and David had conceived again; David was just so overjoyed with Dolly, he couldn’t help it.

Since Dolly’s birth, there had only been two soccer games and no basement mishaps. But she couldn’t help but be worried all the time. However, David eased her out of nervousness most times and she took on the role of a good mother to the fullest. Her dreams were swelling before her very own eyes. She had babies, two of them and more on the way. Two pink cherubs with soft pink skin, blue eyes, blonde curls and all. As soon as the second blue-eyed baby popped out, David had an elaborate family portrait was painted of the family. The girls couldn’t get any cuter. When the painting was finished, after many months of sitting still in front of their big window that looked out to the big backyard, David got out the ladder and hung the painting above the fireplace, installing a large spotlight to focus on the painting. “Our girls can’t get any cuter,” he beamed. She was happy playing in the big living room with her cherubs and making more cherubs with David whenever possible.

No sooner did three years of perfect pass, did she start getting visions of Joseph and Shata and the others wailing in the basement. She daydreamed David had gone back to playing soccer, but instead of months, it was years and he came back crusted with mud from head to toe, a beer caked to his hand. She dreamed that Joseph blew fire and that Shata’s hair had been singed off in a fight. Her nervous state of mind continued, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. Of course, David played soccer here and there, and she always had an ocean of friends over, cooing over the beloved girls. But that was nothing. And about seven more years of perfect went by, and the only thing that plagued her in sleep was the mud on David’s body and the fire from Joseph’s mouth.

On Dolly’s tenth birthday, David got her two horses. They lived in a stable built off the side of Dolly’s room with a big glass sliding door for easy access and viewing. The horses were her favorite things in the whole world, and Dolly began spending more time with them than with her baby sisters and brothers. It might have been that Dolly felt more mature or superior to her siblings, but she started possessing an attitude. Her attitude was like that of a hormonal teenager, and the fights in the big house shook the foundation and the tree in the big backyard. David would glare at Dolly and tell her sternly to stop, but the light emanating around his head didn’t scare Dolly like it scared her mother. Dolly would scream and hiss and let loose her horses if she didn’t get her way. They would trample through the hallways of the house and find someone, anyone, to neigh and buck at.

One day, a particularly nasty one, Dolly had come home upset about something. She hissed and moaned as she made her way to her stables to be with her horses. David had gone back to soccer again, but was back for the hour to get another box of beer. Dolly continued in rage and within ten minutes of yelling at David, her mouth began spewing smoke. David ceased to notice. Soon enough the mud caked soccer jersey that was permanently on David was singed around the edges. And the minute Dolly let out her first flame, the other cherubs let out theirs. The youngest was breastfeeding and the rest were tots, from one, to terrible two, to three to four and on. The house caught on fire immediately. The curtains on all the windows were in flames and everyone’s clothing and hair was singed round the edges. She was mortified as the fire enveloped the house and then subsided with the screaming.

But within a month or so, they all got used to it. Some of the kids didn’t have full fire breathing capacity yet, or it only came on when Dolly aroused everyone with her screaming flames. And She learned to have the fire department on call at all times; just in case she woke up and the whole house was on fire, or she was on fire. Or Dolly’s horses. She knew that it would happen some day. It would be just like how Joseph never grew out of his blue skin and how baby Shata never outlived her heinous name. Her dreams—and her daydreams—of her fire spitting children, would turn into reality, and there would be a huge blazing fire. She knew she would wake up and feel sweaty and hot and unable to breathe. She knew David would not be at her side. She knew she would be unable to turn the doorknob, because the hot metal would burn her hand. Soon enough She would be able to see the bedroom door glowing with the heat emanating from the kid’s rooms. The yellow-gold light would blind her and the flames would slowly engulf her. She knew she would die this way. Such a hot, hot, slow death. And she could hear Dolly hissing and spitting and the horses galloping though the house. She could hear David rummaging through the refrigerator for beer and she could sense Shata and Joseph and the others playing Guess Who in the basement. The big house was perfect. So were the babies. It was all she ever wanted.