One Bad Mummah

FractalFluff, December 17, 2013; 07:31 / FB 15486
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One Bad Mummah

"Owwies! Owwies! Pwease come, babbehs! Huu..!"

You're not sobbing because of the tummy owwies. You're frightened. Last time you had babies, one of them was a bad baby. He looked pretty and good to you, but when you licked him to clean him, he smelled yicky and tasted... wrong. Smarty took that baby away. You thought he would fix the bad baby with magic Smarty-huggies, make him a smell-pretty good baby with his hornie, but instead Smarty hit the baby with his big hoofsie. He hit, hit, hit and the baby cried and you cried; and then the baby was nothing but boo-boo juice and yickies. You don't want that to happen to any of these babies!

But when the owwies are gone, you're such a happy mummah. The happiest mummah. Four little foals. They are such good babies. They all smell pretty and look pretty. Your herd comes to see them and says how good and pretty they are. Smarty comes to see them and says that they are good babies. One is pointy like Smarty and two are sun-color like Smarty. That's good. Smarty likes it when mares have his babies. The last foal is a blue earthie, just like you.

You feed your babies milkies and sing and play with them. They get bigger and bigger. Soon they are big enough to wobble around on their funny little leggies. With every bright-time, their legs get stronger: they wobble less and walk further. That's good!

But...

One baby... the blue earthie baby... he is still wobbly. Two and another one of his his leggies are getting strong and big, like his sissy and bwuddahs; but one of his back leggies is twisty and too-small. It didn't show when he was very tiny, but the bigger he gets, the more you can tell that his leggie isn't growing.

You get scaredy-feels every time you see his no-work leggie. None of the herd have noticed yet, but they will soon. If Smarty finds out, he'll take your baby away. He's done it before, to your taste-yicky baby and other mare's babies. He'll take your little blue baby, and hit, hit, hit him, and your baby will cry, and you won't be able to stop Smarty from making your baby be yickies and boo-boo juice. Sad wawas come to your eyesies when you think about it. He's a good baby and a pretty baby. You love him and he loves you and if they make him be yickies your chest-owwies will be wan-die owwies.

You have to save your baby! You think and think, until your thinkie-place hurts...

Smarty gives babies with one too-small leggie or one wingie or a twisty-bad hornie forever sleepies... but not all of them.

Only the ones who were born with one wingie or a twisty leggie, or who got no-work leggies from sickies... only they get the hit, hit, hit and the boo-boo-juice forever sleepies.

Daisy's baby has one wingie because a kitty-monster got her. But Smarty didn't give her forever sleepies.

Billy, a stallion who was born just after Smarty took over, has a no-work leggie because a dummy toughie stepped on him when he was a baby. Billy didn't get forever sleepies either. The toughie-friend got owwies, but not Billy. He got huggies and milkies and grew up big and strong. He runs and plays just fine, even with a no-work leggie.

And you know what you must do.

You make sure all your babies have plenty of milkies. You sing to them and give them huggies, your best huggies, because it may be the last time. You carefully lick them all over, leaving the twisty-leggie baby till last.

Your eyes are trying to make saddie-wawas, but you don't let them. You need to look happy. You need to be a happy mummah as you take the baby's poor little no-work leggie between your teeth.

You bite.

"Yeeeee!" squeals the baby. "Weggie owwie! Weggie owwie! Mummah! Mummah!"

The leggie is hard and strong, and your teeth are not hard. You move the baby so his leggie is between your back teeth. Your chest-owwies are wan-die owwies but you bite and bite and bite.

"Yeeeeeeee! Yeeeeeeeeeee! Why, mummah? Why mummah nu wuv? Yeeeeeeeeeee!"

Now everyone is looking at you. You try to make laughing-sounds, even though you want to make saddies. "Ha ha," you say, boo-boo juice drippig from your mouth. "Babbeh fow owwies. Babbeh fow owwies!"

Suddenly you feel a kick in your side. You drop the baby. His leggie is yicky with boo-boo juice. "Meany mawe! Wat do?"

"Babbeh fow owwies. Nu... nu wuv babbeh," you lie. The words make your chest hurt inside. "Gif owwies. Take weggie."

Your baby lies on the ground screaming "Yeeeee! Yeeeeeeee! Yeeeeeeeeeee!" and you want to hold him and give huggies and milkies and fix everything, but you have to be meany and not give huggies. You have to make happy-sounds and keep the saddie-wawas from coming, even when your herdmates take your babies away from you, all your babies, even when you have to listen to your babies making saddies and saying "Mummah! *chirp* *chirp* Why nu wuv? Am bad babbeh?"

Then your herd is around you, screaming "Meany mawe!" and "Dummeh mummah!" and kicking and biting, and the pointy fluffies are giving you owwies with their hornies, and finally you can let the saddie-wawas come.

When you open your remaining eye, it's the dark time. You know you are alone, and you know that the forever-sleepies are coming. The herd has given you Worstest Owwies, and dragged you away from all the safe places; even if the cold and the monsters don't give you forever-sleepies, you are too broken to live. You smile in the dark. Three other mares had babies around the time you did; small litters, so they all have enough milkies to feed one more. Your babies will all get enough to eat. Your babies will get love — especially the poor little blue colt, whose meany mummah gave him a no-work leggie. All your babies will be strong and well.

"Buh... bye... babbehs..." you say softly. "Mummah... mummah... wuv... aww... yu..."

The forever-sleepies are coming. But you're not sad anymore. You're the happiest mummah again...