Zap Apple Pie

        Awesome!  Little Dashie totally got the ball in the barrel, you knew he could. Hoof bump. “That’s my boy!”  You shout after you pick him up and listen to him gasp.  A colt, then a filly pegasus, then AJ finally has a baby; you never thought it’d be so perfect.  So, amazing.  Moming is a piece of apple pie.  The chow triangle rings, letting us know supper is ready.

        “C’mon, guys, let’s get back ta the farmhouse b’fore Mama finishes supper!  I bet it’s gonna be amazing, like always.”

        “Mama’s the best cook ever,” Whispy shouts as she gallops away from the game of Buckball.  Sugar following closely, bouncing like Pinkie.  Your first instinct is to drop Little Dashie and fly after Sugar, but you can’t just drop your first born, and the little one isn’t doing anything dangerous.  She’s two months old, by that age you were flying circles around other ponies.

        “Hurry, ya can’t lose to a baby, can ya?” you tease the others and Little Dashie begins to fight in your grasp.  You let him go and watch as he gallops past the other two, leaving them in the dust.  You feel your cheeks hurting from grinning so much.  They’re fast, and Little Whisp is movin’ her wings like she’s ready to fly.  A prouder Mom you never thought you’d be.

        You fly after Sugar and make sure she’s trotting safely at her own pace.  She’s only two months old and still trips sometimes.  Uh-oh, there she goes, now she’s gonna cry.  You pick her up and cradle her in your forelimbs as she fights and cries.  Why can’t babies be born as tough as you were?

        She calms down and blinks her eyes clear of tears as you enter the farmhouse. “Here’s Mama, Sugar, here’s Mama.”  You give the baby to AJ and hover over to the table where Quill is getting the other children ready and in their spots.  A nice floor sitting table that sits you all is new, a certain night of being adults last month broke the old one.

        Applejack cried for a day.  It was one of the last things Granny Smith had helped make before she became too old to wood-work.  It had sentimental value.  You and Quill, with Big Mac, had made a new one to replace it and Big Mac had scolded you, AJ, and Quill to stop having sex on the furniture.  It was built sturdier but you couldn’t see AJ cry like that again.

        AJ’s taking the baby to the den, must be time for the baby to eat again.  Why do they call it eating when the baby’s drinking the milk?

        You’ve tasted it, milk isn’t that great.  Not even Applejack’s.  But, it’s not exactly a part of your diet, pony milk.  Sweet, sure, but something didn’t feel right about it.  You feel a tinge of excitement in your chest at remembering watching Quill taste AJ’s milk as you had AJ’s muzzle pressing against your rump.  Sex was certainly more exciting now that you were a mother, for sure.  Threesomes were the best.

        “What’s for dinner, AJ?” you ask as you help Whisp to her seat.

        “Chowder ‘n mash,” AJ shouts from the other room, “serve it up, Ah’ll be there in a minute.”

        “Or three,” Quill shouts back cuz it takes AJ that long to feed Sugar then get back.  You kind of miss breastfeeding, but that time’s past.  You’re done having children ruin your figure and your mareparts.

Quill’s glancing at you again.  Quill just likes to pay attention to everything, she’s taking care of the farm numbers and all that, so she knows you’ve taken a couple ears of corn more than you should have for a snack.  She counts everything, even how many times you file your hooves a week and how many feathers you leave in bed.  Whatever.

        It’s good for her, since you barely passed level 7 mathematics.  Calculus, as unicorns called it.  What did you need theoretical math for, anyway?  Sheesh, egg heads.  Pushing clouds is what it is, let the ponies upstairs worry about the weather patterns.  Not, your, problem.

        …

        You finish cleaning up the table and floor after supper and start dishes.  The sounds of young playing fill the farmhouse.  You hope Big Mac and Cheerilee are doing good in the house you traded them, they have another foal on the way, so they need the controllable space, not a farm where the foals could hide.  Cheerilee has enough trouble with them at school, having to wrangle them at home was already stressing her.

        The CMC are at Rarity’s for the evening so the night’s a lot easier to clean up.  Being awesome as a mom means new responsibilities, and that means dealing with dessert in the best way possible.

        “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” the young chant as they gallop into the room and surround you as you’re up to your posterns with soapy water.

        “What’d’ya want?!” you shout back.  Undeterred they start shouting for candy and treats. “Go ask Miss Quill or Mama, Ah’m doin’ the dishes,” you yell back.  They get louder and start shouting in unison for candy.  The sound grates on your nerves and you feel your blood pressure rising.  Why can’t they let you have a minute of peace?!

        “Ah’ll get ‘em candy, don’t fret yerself, Sugarplum.”  Thank Celestia, you were about to fly through the door screaming into the orchards.

        After they get their candies they all begin to play again while AJ returns to the den to feed Sugar, AGAIN.  You finish the dishes, sweep the floor, then take the garbage out.  The compost can be Quill’s problem, you’ll tell her later.  It’s nearly sunset so almost bedtime for the foals.  Finally.

        “Mama, can you tell us a story?” Little Dashie asks in the den, “like how you got married?  I love that one.”

        “Okay, well, first we’ll get Sugar ready ta eat and I’ll tell ya while she snacks,” Applejack replied sweetly as she stood and let Sugar have a drink from her plump teats.  The sucking sound makes you long for the days when Whispy would suckle from you.  You’d kiss her, nuzzle her, and show her all the love you could.

        You fly into the den and hug Little Dashie tightly.

        “Mom?  What… what’d I do?” he gasps.  You let him go and smile.

        “You’re just being you,” you say as you turn to Whispy and fly to hug her.  Her forelimbs are open and she’s ready as you pick her up and swing her around.  She giggles and you glance around to see smiles at you for being so affectionate.

        “What’s gotten into you, Dashie?” Quill asks, “you’re not with foal again, are you?”

        The room falls silent as all eyes on you change to mixed emotions.  Your expressions falls flat. “Not a chance in Tartarus am I going through another birth.”

        The adults laugh while the children roll their eyes.  They don’t wanna hear a birth story tonight, especially not yours.  So what if they say you’re too graphic.  They have to learn so they don’t find out when they’re nineteen, like you did.