Parents in Training

Chapter Four: Mr. Bean

I remember waking up as I laid on my side, facing the wall filled with polaroid pictures of Kate, Gabe and I from several ocassions over the years of our friendship. It was a normal Saturday morning with the clock above my closet door ticking quietly and the sun just barely seeping through the rattan blinds, casting light against my bedsheets. Stretching my legs and arms, I laid against my back, now facing the ceiling.

Sitting up, I rub my eyes as they settle with the view in front of me. My clothes from last night discarded across the floor and the beanbags in the corner were toppled over from the little argument Kate and Gabe had about whether the dress was white and gold or blue and black (I thought they were blue and black though) last week. My books were still just as disorganized as I left them by my study table and all the other novels were placed on the shelves, still left unopened (I had this book shopping and I still have yet to find time to read them).

Reaching for the side table of my bed, I took a hairtie and tied my hair up into a messy bun. Hopping off my bed, I walked towards the door when I caught the baby carrier in the corner of my eye. In my peripheral vision, the doll was just sitting there as it did last night. Without even looking at it properly and taking my towel, I muttered a small 'good morning' to the fake baby.

What I didn't expect was a small giggle as a response.

I dropped the towel in my hand and slowly turned around to really see the doll.

I had only one thought that morning. I was thinking that even though I possessed zero idea on babies - hell, I would become a horrible mother - I was very sure that baby dolls aren't made to turn alive overnight.

My mind went completely blank as I stared at it. It sat where I left it in the pink baby basket. The big blue eyes were blinking and the cheeks were redder than when it was plastic. Sounds were coming out of it this time. The longer I stared at it, I felt myself going insane by the second. It was probably a dream. Maybe I was so tired from yesterday and was so stressed out by Leon, I went into a spiral of unbelievable dreams.

Maybe if I pinched myself, I would wake up and the baby would be plastic as ever.

I winced at the pain and the baby giggled at the red mark on my arm. My breath picked up its pace and I could hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears. My pulse was going out of control. It was too early in the morning for this. I tasted metal in my mouth and my visions began to blur. The baby kept laughing and I could hear the sound echoing in my head, bouncing off inside of my skull.

This had to be a dream.

How could a plastic baby turn real overnight? That's scientifically impossible. And illogical!

But it was moving its hands and making bubbles from its saliva!

Maybe I've gone mad.

My breath hitched as the baby crawled out of the basket with a wide smile on its chubby face. Slowly and clumsily, it crawled and attempted to stand up but fell back onto its own bum. It started giggling madly. It was either laughing at me being delusional or laughing just because it could.

"Mama!" it squeaked with its small hands reaching out as if it wanted me to pick it up.

My visions got blurry and my bedroom looked woozy. Everything around me began to look distorted as if Picasso decided to rebuild my room. Soon enough, my eyes rolled back and the last thing I remember happening was my back hitting the floor with a loud thud.

----

Once I regain my conciousness, my head was pounding and felt a pair of small hands touching my face. Suddenly remembering how I ended up passing out on the floor, I quickly stood up and saw the now alive baby doll staring up at me, smiling with its chubby cheeks all rosy. I screamed at the top of my lungs as I tried to move further away from it but it kept crawling towards me. It looked exactly like the doll with its bright blue eyes, it's sparsely spreaded blonde hair, the round rosy cheeks and its pink onesie it was wearing - or she, perhaps now it was alive and breathing. And human.