And Then There Were Twelve

    Mama had gone to the hospital.  I did not know why.  I was five years old.

    Mrs. Ferris was taking care of us while she was gone.  Mama had been tired and cross for a long time, so Mrs. Ferris’s sweet disposition was a nice change.  She complimented me on being such a nice quiet child.

    One day Papa went to get Mama.  She came home, not alone, but with a white wrapped bundle that everyone was making such a fuss over.  It did not look very important to me.  They said it was a baby girl but you couldn’t prove it by me.  It was a tiny baby, red all over, no hair, with skinny arms and legs.  Mama put the baby into a bassinet right beside her bed, and immediately got into bed.  She would reach over and cover the baby, and sometimes just look at her.  I missed Mama while she was gone and I still missed her now that she was home.  Her entire attention was on the baby and I was no longer important to her.

     Many people came to see the new baby.  They would say to me “Can I take the baby home?”  I hoped that the baby really lived somewhere else.  I said to Mama, “Mama, when are they going to take the baby home?”  Mama said, “This is our baby”.  “Our baby!”  I thought.  “No one had asked me if I wanted a baby.”

     Mama took care of the baby for long hours.  She bathed her every morning, hummed, talked to the baby and smiled the whole time.  She would wrap her up, put a cap on her, and put her outside in a corner of the porch for her “sunbath”.  I think the sun hit only the baby’s nose.  This was October in Illinois.  It was getting cold.  I did not understand why the baby was so important to Mama.

    Mrs. Ferris stayed on, cooking and cleaning.  When the baby started sleeping more Mama gave me a bit more attention.  I never got what I had before, I just settled for what I got.