Her name was Marion: patience of Ms. Nightingale; sternness of a schoolteacher; the humanity of a friend. She delivered our baby at 4:55 AM.
Shift over, she slipped on her leather trousers and jacket, a pair of biker boots, and a bright red helmet. So incongruous: perhaps her own midwife crisis?
Lisa is an English teacher who enjoys writing, sewing and designing jewellery, sometimes all at once!
He pointed the camera at her and asked, “Grandma, how does it feel to be a great grandmother?”
She looked up from the baby they had named for her late husband, her eyes wet.
“Everything the Nazis took from me… I got it all back.” Her voice was triumphant: “Everything.”
You can read more of Lianna Williamson’s writing on her writing blog.
“Aww, where’s mommy?” they teased. “Is baby homesick?”
And she dried her tears and lied to them.
“I’m not homesick,” she shouted, and that wasn’t the lie.
“I don’t care about my mommy,” she protested, and that wasn’t the lie.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, and that was the lie.
This story was based on a title suggested by Dan Hingston through the Facebook page.
After being married for thirty years he thought he’d pretty much figured her out, but when she came home with a baby crocodile for Christmas he realized she was as beautifully, wonderfully mysterious to him now as she always had been, which wasn’t much consolation when it ate the dog.
Ellie wriggled her toes, grinning with grim satisfaction as the joints cracked. She looked down at the delicate, elfin girl nestled underneath the covers beside her.
“Morning,” her husband whispered as he entered the room. “Is she still asleep?”
Ellie nodded, beaming, gently stroking the girl’s sun-dappled cheek. “My baby.”
Vikkie the Mimm originally submitted this story as an entry in the Mere 50 Words contest.
“Ow! Oooooow!! Ouch! Ooh… Aah… Huuuaaaah… OH!! Woooow… Whoa! Aaaah! It burns! Eeeeek! Aaaaargh! Nyyyuuuurrgh… WWWAAAAAAAAUUGHH!! Hoooly mother of painburgersssss… GRROOOOAARGH IT HURTS SO BAAAAD!! No, why, why!?!? Ooow!! Never again! I swear on your grandmother’s grave if you ever even BHAAAAAUGH!!! OW OW OW!!”
“…I said I was sorry.”
They showered baby Tabitha with adoration, affection, and kisses (of the Hershey variety), and their efforts were rewarded. She grew ever happier, ever more contented, and ever plumper.
Finally the day came. They placed her in the pot, placed the pot on the stove, and whipped out their cameras.
“Cheese!”