I Don't Have Time for This.
A foal's first words.
Admiral Biscuit
I was sitting in Sugarcube Corner with my hooves around a mug of coffee. I listened to the sleet rattling against the windows and thanked Celestia I’d made it inside before it had really started coming down. There was still some melting off my back and out of my mane, but the bakery was well-heated, what with all the ovens.
I morosely shuffled around a few loose bits on the table. Pinchy really wanted the new Pastel Unicorn doll for a Hearth’s Warming Eve gift, but I couldn’t imagine how I could scrape together enough bits to afford it—especially with this kind of weather. Hopefully, it was a mix-up, and the pegasi would change it into flakey snow. Nopony wanted ice for the last market day before Hearth’s Warming.
I blew across the top of my mug and took a sip. It helped drive back the pounding in my head. A couple of nice thick slices of buttered bread would do me well, but I’d just have to suffer in the name of saving money.
“And then Pound said ‘Da-da,’ and Pumpkin said ‘Ma-Ma!’ Oh, it was so cute, I almost died. Our foals’ first words!” Mrs. Cake leaned over and wrapped a hoof around her husband. I grimaced and concentrated on my coffee.
“Ooh, I so totally wish I could have been there!” Pinkie jumped up and down enthusiastically. “I should throw them a party, for being such totally super-awesome little foals!”
I sighed and pushed my bits back into my coin-purse. There was a chance that I could escape this with my dignity intact.
“My first word was ‘mommy,’ Pinkie stated exuberantly. “Granny Pie was watching me, and ma and pa had to leave and take care of some gravel in the south field. When ma closed the door, I said ‘mommy’ and started to cry.”
I tried to block Pinkie and the Cakes out. I’d just walked my daughter to school, but still needed the coffee to get the cobwebs out of my brain. What I did not need was this kind of enthusiasm. Not this early in the morning.
“What about you?” Pinkie leered over the counter in my direction. It was too late to ignore her; I’d already made eye contact.
Oh Celestia, no.
“You’ve got Berry Pinch. What were her first words?”
“Fuck!” I slammed the cup down on the table. “I don’t need this.” I stomped out the door, hearing Carrot mutter something about a burr under my saddle. Stupid stallion, what did he know?
❄ ❄ ❄
“Does something smell funny?” Cormano took his hoof off my shoulder.
I looked up from my glass of wine. Pinch was sitting on the floor, happily stacking blocks with her uncertain grasp. A small puddle was forming under her diaper. “Fuck. She wet herself. Again. Fucking foal.”
I slammed down the rest of my glass of wine and jumped into action. I wrapped a hoof around her belly and dragged her away from her blocks, which elicited a bout of crying. “Cormano, can you wipe up the floor?”
“I just got comfortable,” he protested.
“Hey, I’m the one changing her fucking diaper. Just grab a rag and wipe up the piss; it isn’t that hard.” Stupid stallions.
❄ ❄ ❄
The sleet was even less pleasant than I’d imagined it would be. I shook my head to clear old memories and to try and get some of the rivulets of meltwater out of my eyes. Naturally, that just made it worse, and I blinked in pain as a ice-crystal hit me right in the eyeball.
It was a short walk through town before I arrived in the small alleyway behind my house. I tugged the doors open and stepped inside, then shook myself off. It was a waste of effort; I was about to go back out into it again.
I cursed the cold tack as I struggled into the wagon harness. Thank Celestia I loaded it last night. If I hadn’t, I probably would have called the whole thing off and spent the day in front of a nice fire. Come on, Berry, you can do this. I tripped the brake release with my teeth and planted my hooves firmly into the churned-up dirt floor of the wagonhouse. While I was hooking up, the sleet had intensified. With a remorseful sigh, I yanked on the wagon.
❄ ❄ ❄
“Oh, fuck,” Cormano muttered as he stepped into the den. “How’d she get on the table, anyway? You were supposed to fucking watch her.”
“Sorry.” I set my wineglass next to the stove. “I just stepped into the kitchen for a fucking drink.”
“Come on,” I heard him mutter. “Off the table, now, there’s a good filly.”
“You could fucking pick her up, you know. She doesn’t bite.” I moved into the doorway just in time to hear his surprised curse.
“Fuck! She just puked on my leg.”
❄ ❄ ❄
I picked myself up off the ground for what seemed the thousandth time. The roads were treacherous underhoof, and the wagon kept sticking at the slightest provocation. Every time I thought I’d reached a perfect rhythm, the wagon would jerk me up short, my hooves would slide out from under me, and I’d bellyflop into a pile of slush. The ruff on my chest was already frozen stiff, and I ached from neck to tail.
At least the market’s deserted, so nopony saw that.
A red fetlock wrapped around mine and put a lie to my thoughts. I glanced up into Big Mac’s deep green eyes. My pulse quickened . . . I hated to make a foal of myself in front of him, but maybe it was worth it for the contact.
He had me back on my hooves in a trice, and before I could protest I felt his muzzle brush against my barrel, gently pulling my harness loose.
“You don’t have to—I can get it,” I mumbled,
“Nope.” He pushed me aside and backed between the wagon’s shafts.
❄ ❄ ❄
“Fuck!” I reached back with my forehoof and tried to shove her out of my way. “Not now, sweetie, dinner’s fucking burning!”
From the living room: “She’s hungry.” I could almost feel his eyes burning into my rump . . . it had been better when she didn’t walk so readily. At least then I could get a pot off the stove before attending to her.
“I know she’s fucking hungry! I’m fucking hungry. If I balance this pot, I can—fuck! She just bit my nipple!”
❄ ❄ ❄
I took the bottles out of the wagon one at a time. Normally I could grab two or three at a time, but the rain made them slippery, and I didn’t want to drop any. The way the day was going, I could too easily imagine a whole day’s profits shattering on the ground and staining the snow blood-red.
As I turned I caught a whiff of Big Mac. His old blanket was draped across my back, and smelled strongly of his sweat. It did little enough to warm me—the poor thing was threadbare and patched—but there was a psychological comfort to smelling a stallion so close . . . it had been too long. . . .
I grabbed another bottle by the neck, almost gagging as a hoof slipped. Even my stall is against me. The belled end of the cork pressed against the back of my throat and I carefully pulled my head back, looking around to see if anypony had noticed. But the market was still empty.
I put the last bottle on the counter as the town clock struck noon. The market was officially open. Almost immediately, two mares wearing galoshes walked up to the Apple’s stall and began haggling over a peck of Jonagolds. I sighed . . . on a nicer day, I might call out to them.
Courage, Berry. I took a sip out of my sample bottle. You can do this. I looked up and down the street, hoping to see more customers, but there was nothing but grey and driving sleet . . . like the clouds were crying.
❄ ❄ ❄
My ears twitched at three meaty-sounding thuds, followed by a loud crash. Cormano was out with his friends, so that only left—
I leapt off the couch like my tail was on fire, all thoughts of a nap vanishing. Pinch had been sleeping right next to me . . . but she’d been getting more adventurous lately.
My heart leapt into my throat the moment I saw her. She was lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs in a crumpled heap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her favorite doll lying five steps up. I could see a smear of blood on the bottom-most riser.
She looked at me and struggled to her hooves. There was a nasty-looking contusion on her right-front forehoof that was oozing blood, and I could immediately see that she was favoring that leg. Please don’t let it be broken. . . .
She determinedly put one hoof back on the step before she saw me beside her. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“Don’t fucking cry! Fuck!” I wrapped a hoof protectively around her. “Mommy will get your doll, and then we’ll patch up your ouchie, okay?”
❄ ❄ ❄
“Warm yourself up with a bottle of strawberry schnapps!” I spoke with a cheer I didn’t feel.
Junebug looked over the counter dubiously.
“You could give it as a Hearth’s Warming Eve present,” I suggested. “Everypony likes strawberry schnapps.”
“Have you got any grape juice?”
“Two bits.” I pointed to the bottle proudly.
“One bit seven,” she countered.
“That hardly covers the cost of the bottle,” I countered. “Each grape was tenderly raised and gently pressed by my very own hooves. One bit eleven.”
“I don’t know.” She looked around the market. “Goldengrape’s selling his juice for one-eight.”
“But he uses white grapes. One-ten.” Goldengrape wasn’t even at the market today. I’d checked during a break in the weather. The sleet had changed to snow, so apparently the pegasi had fixed their screw-up. Of course, that meant that there would be a few inches of new fluffy white snow on top of a crust of ice.
“Regardless.” She poked the bottle dismissively. “I wouldn’t give more than one-nine for a bottle of grape juice.”
“You’re cutting me to the bone,” I remarked. “One-nine!” I slid the bottle back to her. “I’ll take it, but only because it’s nearly Hearth’s Warming.”
I made change as she put the bottle in her saddlebags. I would have taken one-seven—sales had been that slow.
❄ ❄ ❄
“Honey, could you fucking help with Pinch? She fucking shit herself and got out of her diaper.”
“What the fuck do you mean you’re fucking leaving? We’ve got a fucking kid together.”
❄ ❄ ❄
I heard the town clock chime three times. School was out for the holidays . . . Pinchy would be going home with Golden Harvest and Noi today. I’d have to get her after the market closed.
I looked up and down the empty street. Is there any point in staying? My day’s take was two bottles of grape juice, one bottle of strawberry juice, and three bottles of wine.
I stomped my hooves, trying to knock some of the snow off. It was days like this that I wished I had a nice warm scarf and saddle blanket, maybe a pair of galoshes. The wagon’s harness was buried under two inches of snow already, and I cringed at the thought of those frozen straps encircling my barrel.
Aside from Big Mac, nopony was in sight at the market. It figured. Aside from those mares who’d run out of staples, nopony was foolish enough to brave the weather. They were all someplace warm and inviting—at home with their families, maybe.
I took a sip of my sample bottle, then another for good measure.
Even at Sugarcube Corner, huddled over a warm cup of cocoa. . . .
“It’s just me and you, kid.” I pulled the blanket over my daughter. “Daddy had to go away for a while. Probably forever, ‘cause he’s a fucking loser of a stallion who’s scared of any kind of commitment that’s fucking longer than one minute. We don’t need him, right?” I wrinkled my nostrils. “Fuck. Again? I just changed you.”
I grabbed a fresh diaper from the changing table. I probably should have taken her out of her crib, but she was almost asleep. If I was quick on my hooves . . . I cleaned her up and slid the clean diaper on without any trouble. One gentle step away from my sleepy foal . . . and my hooves skidded out from under me, tripped by a loose baby bottle. “Fuck!”
From the crib: “Fuck!”
I slumped to the floor, knee aching and muzzle covered with the contents of my daughter’s diaper. I am the worst mother in Equestria.
Author's Note
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