Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby

“Keep us posted,” Janine called out.

  We walked away from the desk. The waiting room was a small alcove just outside the maternity wing. Inside were two plastic-upholstered sofas, a magazine rack, a candy and soda machine (dinner!), and a pay phone. No windows, though, and no artwork.

  Dad and Janine sat. Mom and I paced.

  And paced.

  And paced.

  When Russ poked his head in, I spun around so fast I knocked the phone receiver off the hook.

  “Peaches wants to see you,” Russ said to Mom.

  “Is she —?” I squeaked.

  Russ shook his head. “Not yet. She just needs a little TLC.”

  That was a phrase I understood. Mom bustled out, a huge smile on her face.

  I kept pacing. Janine was doing physics homework. Dad was reading the same page of the Wall Street Journal over and over. I grew so tired of pacing I sat down and started reading a magazine, cover to cover.

  “Popular Mechanics?” Janine asked.

  Oh. I hadn’t any idea what I’d been looking at.

  After awhile, we were all yawning.

  Janine finally asked, “Claudia, when Russ called, did he tell you to rush over?”

  “Well, no,” I replied.

  “Then why were you in such a hurry?”

  “Janine, he said she was going to the hospital. You go to the hospital when you’re about to have a baby! How was I to know that —”

  “Okay, okay, it’s an understandable mistake. So why don’t we go home and wait until —”

  “Go home? How could you think of —”

  “Ssssh, please,” Dad said.

  Then Mom walked back in, and we all fell silent.

  She looked tired. “They’re going to induce,” she told us.

  “Is that bad?” I asked.

  Mom shook her head. “It means they’re giving her medication to speed things along, that’s all.”

  Speed things along? That was good news.

  I was halfway through the American Medical Journal when I heard a commotion near the nurse’s desk. Then I thought I heard Peaches. Moaning.

  I ran out to see two nurses wheeling Peaches, on a rolling bed, toward a pair of white, swinging doors. Russ was jogging alongside.

  “Dr. Zuckerman to delivery, please,” a voice blared over a loudspeaker. “Stat.”

  From behind us, a doctor walked briskly out of the maternity area. He ducked behind the nurses’s desk, put on a shower cap and a green space suit, and went into the delivery room.

  I squeezed Janine’s hand. I felt as if I’d swallowed a beach ball.

  “Come,” Dad said. “Let’s sit down.”

  He put his arm around Mom’s shoulder, and we all walked back into the waiting room.

  “How long will it be?” I asked.

  “Soon,” Mom said. “Very soon.”

  I was a train wreck. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t read.

  Soon? Soon felt like a thousand years.

  I thought Russ would never come. I thought he’d forgotten about us. I imagined us sitting there, neglected, gathering dust, until Little Mimi was ready for grade school.

  And then, just when I thought I would pass out from the tension, Russ ran into the room. His eyes were glazed, his smile so bright we could have seen him in the dark.

  “Claudia, Janine,” he announced, “you have a new cousin.”

  “I do — she’s here — what — yaaaahhhhhooooo!” I jumped on Russ. Unfortunately, Janine and Mom were already smothering him with hugs.

  I slid off. Next to me, Dad was beaming. So I jumped on him.

  I was so excited I almost forgot the most important question. “What’s her name?” I quickly asked.

  Mimi. Mimi. Mimi. Mimi … I tried to send telepathic signals.

  “Lynn,” Russ replied with a big smile. “After Claudia Lynn Kishi.”

  Well, I let out a sob so loud, I thought I’d wake up all the sleeping babies in the hospital. Russ wrapped me in his arms and said, “It was Peaches’ idea. She insisted on it.”

  “Oh …” I said. “Oh …” (It was the only word I could think of at the time.)

  “I wanted the name Agnes,” Russ said with a sigh. “But I gave in at the last minute.”

  Dad howled with laughter. I bopped Russ on the arm.

  “She’s okay?” Mom asked.

  “Ten toes, ten fingers,” Russ replied. “And a powerful cry.”

  Mom smiled. “I meant Peaches.”

  “So did I,” Russ shot back.

  “What’s she look like?” Janine asked. “I mean, the baby.”

  “Uh, sort of like this.” Russ squinched up his eyes and opened his mouth into a silent howl.

  “I recognize that look,” Mom said. “Pure Peaches.”

  “Can we see her?” Janine asked.

  Russ shook his head. “Not tonight. It’s too late. Peaches told me to say she loves you all but she’s exhausted and hopes you understand.”

  “Can we come tomorrow after school?” I asked.

  “You better,” Russ answered. “By then we’ll need a trained baby-sitter.”

  I love Russ. He is so cool.

  We said good-byes and exchanged more hugs.

  I floated all the way to the car.

  When we arrived home and I saw the clock in the living room, I could not believe my eyes. It was ten forty-five. I ran to the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked.

  “Calling my friends,” I replied. “I promised.”

  “Not at this hour,” Dad said. “They can wait.”

  Grrrrr.

  That night I could not sleep. I tried and tried, but my smile was keeping me awake.

  Yes, I’m serious. Every time I started dozing off, I’d think of the next day, and sproooiiingg, my cheeks would start to hurt.

  In the morning, I raced downstairs and wolfed down my cereal. I wanted to call Stacey so badly, but Mom was on the phone to Peaches in the hospital. Afterward she reported that Peaches and Lynn were happy and resting, and they could hardly wait for our visits.

  “I know! I could stop off there before school,” I suggested. “I wouldn’t be too late.”

  Mom quickly flushed that idea. Sigh.

  I decided to skip the phone calling. I’d tell everybody in person.

  I was the first to arrive at the corner of Elm Street and Burnt Hill Road. The moment Stacey spotted me from up the street, she ran.

  “So?” was her breathless greeting.

  “She’s Lynn!” I blurted out.

  “Little Mimi?”

  “Yes!”

  Stacey shrieked. “Yaaaaaay! Why didn’t you call?”

  I explained everything. Minute by minute.

  Then, when Mary Anne arrived, I repeated the whole story. And again when Mallory ran up. And one more time for Jessi, a block later. We were so loud, I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t start throwing things at us.

  “When are you going to see her?” Jessi asked as we walked toward SMS.

  “After school.”

  “Take a camera,” Mallory suggested.

  “A Polaroid,” Stacey added. “So we can see right away.”

  “Call us,” Jessi said.

  “Which gift will you bring her?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Maybe the diaper wraps,” I said. “I was going to give them to Peaches at the shower, but I gave her the picture frames and the crib bumpers instead. I also made this cool mobile with figures in black-and-white because that helps newborns’ eyes to focus. Oh! And a fairy tale painting, with all my favorite characters —”

  Jessi burst out laughing. “How many presents do you have?”

  “I didn’t count,” I replied. “They’re all tucked away at home. Ugh. I hope I haven’t forgotten any of them.”

  “How about the blanket?” Mary Anne asked softly. “Do you still have it?”

  I had almost forgotten. During Peaches’ first pregnancy, Mary Anne and I had started knitting a lavender crib
blanket for the baby. (Mary Anne had done most of the work at first. She’s a talented knitter.) After the miscarriage, I had finished it and put it away in the back of my closet, just in case.

  Now, just-in-case was about to be a reality.

  I smiled at Mary Anne. “I sure do. That’s what I’ll bring.”

  A moment later, Logan came bounding toward us. I have to admit, telling the news the fourth time around was every bit as much fun as the first.

  Logan’s response? “Does she look like the fax?”

  Boys.

  * * *

  As you can imagine, that school day was not on my list of all-time greatest learning experiences. Normally my teachers think I’m in a fog. That day, they were trying to find me in the asteroid belt.

  I just could not stop thinking about Lynn. I was missing her first day. I would never know what she looked like as a new newborn. I might have lost out on that important initial bonding time.

  Chill, I kept telling myself.

  I counted the minutes to the end of school. I couldn’t even pay attention in social studies, when Ms. Bernhardt was telling us about our weekend in Philadelphia.

  After school I burst like a cannonball out the front door. I practically ran all the way home.

  Mom and Dad were still at work, and Janine was in math club or something equally thrilling. I let myself in, scooted upstairs, and pulled open the door of my closet.

  The blanket was wrapped in paper that I had decorated with drawings of rattles, fairytale characters, blocks, and little babies. I stuffed the package in my backpack.

  Zoom. I was outside, on my bike, and on the way to Stoneybrook General.

  I parked my bike at a rack. Then I ran to the front desk and ripped off my bike helmet, panting for breath. My hair must have looked like a haystack. “Benedict … maternity … Peaches?” I gasped.

  Yes, the receptionist did understand me, somehow. “Room four-thirty-five. Use the rear elevator.”

  “Thanks!” I darted away. I waited about three hundred hours for the elevator. I rode up, squished between two doctors, and ran off at the fourth floor.

  I headed straight for the delivery area.

  “Excuse me, miss?” an urgent voice called out. “You can’t go there!”

  I turned to see a nurse rushing toward me. “But — my aunt — the baby —” I stammered.

  She smiled. “You want maternity. It’s around the corner.”

  “Thanks!”

  I took a deep breath. I composed myself in a mirror by the elevator. I removed my backpack and took out the gift.

  And then I tore off down the hall.

  Room 435 was the third door. “Hi, Pea —!” I began.

  I stopped myself. Peaches was fast asleep. Around her, flower arrangements were perched on every flat surface.

  I backed out. Peaches had been through a lot, and I didn’t want to disturb her.

  But when was I going to see Lynn?

  “Psssst! Claudia!”

  I whirled around.

  Uncle Russ was walking toward me from the other end of the hall, wearing a yellow apron. In his arms was a teeny bundle of blankets.

  I rushed up to him. “Hi! I brought you a —”

  “Shhhh!” he replied.

  He tilted the bundle toward me. Inside a little opening at the top of the bundle, I caught my first glimpse of my cousin.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. Nothing could describe how beautiful she was. How serene and perfect. Her eyes were closed but somehow she radiated life and energy. Her hair was jet-black and spiky, sticking straight up.

  Not only was she gorgeous, she was cool. A chip off the old block.

  “May I hold her?” I asked, handing him my gift.

  “Sure,” Russ said.

  I was amazed at how light she was, even with all the blankets. “Hi, Lynnie-Lynn,” I said, through sniffles of joy.

  We walked back into Peaches’ room. The moment Russ sat on the bed, Peaches began to waken.

  “We have a visitor,” he said softly.

  Peaches broke into a huge smile. “What do you think, Claudia?”

  “I think she’s stunning!” I said.

  “She likes you,” Peaches replied. “I can tell.”

  “How? She’s sleeping!”

  Peaches shrugged. “She was sleeping when your mom took her, but she burst out crying.”

  “Mom was here?”

  “On her lunch break. She couldn’t keep herself away.”

  I gave Lynn a kiss. “Everybody loves you soooo much!”

  Lynn moved. Just a fraction of an inch. And then the corners of her lips turned up.

  “She’s smiling!” I exclaimed. “Her very first smile!”

  “I think it’s gas,” Russ said gently. “Newborns look like that when they have stomach pains.”

  “But I’m sure she loves your voice,” Peaches quickly added.

  I nuzzled Lynn a few times. She yawned and her eyes flickered open. They seemed to focus on me for a moment.

  Then she burped and fell asleep again.

  “Oh, I almost forgot!” I cried. “I have something for you.” I handed the gift to my aunt.

  “Thank you,” Peaches said.

  “The paper’s great,” Russ added.

  Peaches carefully peeled back the tape, preserving the paper. When she saw the blanket, her eyes started to water. “You finished it?”

  I nodded. That was about all I could do. Looking at Peaches’ face, I thought of the only other time I’d seen her cry. It was after her miscarriage, and she had been devastated.

  I’d been there at the lowest point of her life. Now I was there at the most glorious. And the blanket kind of brought the two times together.

  I dripped a tear of my own, on Lynn’s blanket.

  Russ handed me a tissue. I cradled Lynn in one arm and wiped my eyes.

  “Russ and I have something to ask you, Claudia,” Peaches said.

  “Sure,” I whimpered.

  “We’ve thought about this very carefully, and both of us are in complete agreement,” Russ continued.

  “Would you be Lynn’s godmother?” Peaches asked.

  “G-g-godmother?” I stammered.

  “We can’t think of anyone better suited,” Peaches went on. “You’ll always have a special place of honor in her life.”

  I was speechless. Me, cool, calm, never-ruffled Claudia.

  Before I dissolved into a puddle, I managed to croak out an answer.

  “You bet I will.”

  Logan Bruno took homework to the Arnolds’ on Friday night. Don’t worry. He was feeling fine. He had not lost his mind. He claims he had a report due on Monday, and he’d been busy with the baseball team for weeks.

  I don’t know about you, but to me, the idea of doing homework on a Friday night is like going to the beach in a wool suit in August. I’d never dream of it.

  But I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. I shouldn’t criticize him.

  Who knows? Maybe his teacher had offered a cash reward.

  Marilyn and Carolyn are eight-year-old, brown-haired, dark-eyed, identical twins. But they’re easy to tell apart. Marilyn wears simpler clothes and has shorter hair. Carolyn loves science and can be a little spacey. Marilyn’s a musician and very down-to-earth.

  The Arnolds were going to a movie that night. As they gave Logan instructions in the kitchen, he could hear Marilyn practicing piano in the living room. Carolyn was in her bedroom, reading.

  “Help yourself to a snack,” Mr. Arnold said. “The girls seem pretty tired. They said they wanted to watch some TV, which is fine.”

  “After Marilyn finishes practicing, of course,” Mrs. Arnold added. “And remember, no sweets, no scary movies before bedtime, and if my sister calls, tell her I’ll call in the morning.”

  Everyone said good-bye, and Logan began to spread out his homework on the kitchen table.

  The Arnolds’ car pulled out of the drivewa
y, and the plinking in the living room suddenly stopped.

  “What time is it?” Marilyn called out.

  Logan glanced at his watch. “Seven fifty-six,” he called back.

  Plink, plinkety-plink plink …

  A few minutes later she yelled, “What time is it now?”

  Thump-thump-thump-thump! Before Logan could answer, Carolyn came rushing down the stairs. “Oh, hi, Logan,” she said, then dashed toward the living room and called out, “It’s eight o’clock!”

  The plinking stopped. Marilyn and Carolyn both ran through the kitchen and up the stairs.

  “What’s up?” Logan asked.

  “We’re just going to watch TV,” Carolyn replied.

  “The one in our parents’ room,” Marilyn explained.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump — SLAM!

  Up and out of sight. Silence.

  Logan smiled. Some sitting job. Piece of cake.

  Which reminded him … He opened the fridge, took out a snack of pound cake and green grapes, and made himself at home.

  He worked for a moment or two, occasionally hearing muffled voices from the TV show upstairs. Funny, he thought. The last time he’d been at the Arnolds’, he and the twins had watched a video in the family room.

  Was the TV broken? He hoped not. Logan likes to watch the nightly sports report on the news.

  He walked into the family room and flicked on the TV. It lit up. In full color. Nice and normal.

  “Hey, guys?” he called upstairs. “You don’t want to watch down here?”

  “That’s okay!” Marilyn shouted. “This is fine.”

  It was fine with Logan, too. He returned to work.

  A few minutes later he heard a scream.

  He slapped down his pen and ran upstairs. The Arnolds’ bedroom door was shut, and from the other side he could hear giggling and whispering.

  He opened the door and peeked in. The girls were calmly lying on the bed, watching an animated tyrannosaur lumber through a forest.

  “What happened to the terrible lizards?” a voice intoned. “Let’s look at the geological record …”

  “Everything okay up here?” he asked.

  “Great,” Marilyn answered.

  He headed downstairs, to the sound of crunching dinosaur footsteps.

  Back to work. Popping grapes into his mouth, Logan fell deep into his research.

  “RRRROOOWWWWWWRRR!”

  The sound startled him. Marilyn and Carolyn screamed again, and he heard a thump.