"Martin, Ann M - BSC052 - Mary Anne And Too Many Babies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

Guess what. The day those homework assignments were due, we never even discussed them. We walked into our Modern Living classroom to find Mrs. Boy den sitting at her desk, her hands clasped in front of her. On the desk was a carton of eggs, the lid open. Mrs. Boyden said nothing as we filed into the room.
Something was going to happen.
"Logan," I dared to whisper, "do you think Mrs. Boyden is angry at our class? Did we do something wrong?"
Logan shrugged. "Beats me."
To be on the safe side, I handed in our homework assignment. I laid it silently on the edge of our teacher's desk. The other kids watched, then did the same thing.
When we were all seated quietly, Mrs. Boyden got to her feet. She smiled. "Congratulations," she said. "You have all become parents."
"Huh?" said Shawna.
"You've been married for awhile," Mrs. Boyden continued, "and now you have had babies. Congratulations."
I noticed a lot of confused faces in the room.
Mrs. Boyden indicated the carton of eggs.
"Your children/' she said. "When I call your names, please come to the front of the room and receive your egg. Logan Bruno and Mary Anne Spier."
Feeling both confused and self-conscious, Logan and I made our way to Mrs. Boy den's desk. She held out an egg, which Logan accepted (because my hand was sort of shaking). When she didn't say anything else, we returned to our seats.
Pair by pair, the other kids were given eggs also. While Logan waited for everyone to sit down, he played with our egg. He placed it in the center of his desk, tapped it, sent it rolling, then caught it just before it sailed over the edge.
"Each of you now has a child," Mrs. Boyden announced, closing the lid on the carton. "The eggs are your children. For the next few weeks you are to treat the eggs as you would infants."
At that moment, Logan had just rolled our egg to the edge of his desk again. He caught it in a hurry. He handed it to me.
"Your babies," Mrs. Boyden was saying, "must be fed regularly, clothed, taken to the -doctor, and especially, watched over. Just as you would never leave a human infant alone, you must never leave your egg alone. Someone must be available to care for it at all times.
You will be in charge of your egg-children for a month. At the end of four weeks, a paper will be due. I will expect you to write about your experiences, any problems you encountered, the solutions to those problems, and so forth. We'll talk more about the papers later this week. By the way, as parents you are responsible for your children, starting right now. Of course, I won't be able to see that your babies are cared for when you're out of school, so everyone is on his or her honor this month. Every eighth-grader will become a parent to an egg, and I trust you to keep an eye on each other. Only you can make the honor system work."
(Behind me, someone whispered, "Funny, I thought only we could prevent forest fires." Someone else giggled. Mrs. Boyden didn't notice.)
"Any questions?" our teacher asked.
As you can imagine, nearly everybody raised a hand.
"Shawna?" said Mrs. Boyden.
"Do we really have to take our eggs to the doctor?" she asked. "I might feel sort of silly. Like, what will the pediatrician think?"
Mrs. Boyden closed her eyes momentarily. "No, you don't actually have to take your egg to a doctor. But you are going to be a mother for a month, so I expect you to know when
and why your child might need to see a doctor. Remember to plan for checkups."
Logan nudged me. "How are we supposed to feed these eggs?" he asked.
I shrugged.
Shawna raised her hand again and spoke without waiting to be called on. "About food Ч " she began to say.
"No, you do not need to prepare food and pretend to feed your egg," Mrs. Boy den broke in. "Let me explain the project in more detail. When you leave this room at the end of the period, either you or your partner Ч your spouse Ч must watch over your child every moment. You wouldn't leave an infant unattended, so do not stash your egg in your locker during school hours. The egg will accompany you to classes. You must also tend to your egg after school and at night."
"Hey, what about after-school sports?" exclaimed a boy in the front row. "I can't watch an egg while I'm at baseball practice."
"Ask your wife to watch your child, then," said Mrs. Boy den.
"But I take piano lessons," spoke up the wife. She hesitated, then added, "I guess I could bring the egg with me."
Mrs. Boyden nodded. "That would be an acceptable solution, as long as you keep your eye on the baby throughout the lesson."
Mrs. Boy den mentioned some facts about babies. Not everyone was aware, for example, that infants cannot hold their own bottles. "What does that tell you about feeding your baby?" asked Mrs. Boyden.
"I guess we have to be with our egg at mealtimes," spoke up Trevor Sandbourne. "The baby can't eat by itself."
"Right. In fact, you need to hold the egg," pointed out Mrs. Boyden. "Infants can't sit up, either. Understand?" We nodded. "One last thing," our teacher went on, glancing at the clock. "From here on in, I would like you to refer to your children as children, rather than as eggs." Mrs. Boyden didn't explain this Ч the bell rang just as she finished her sentence Ч so I didn't have a chance to ask her why we weren't supposed to call our eggs eggs.
Around me, my classmates were getting to their feet. But not Logan. He turned to me with this incredible horrified expression on his face. Then he looked at our egg. I mean, our child. It was resting on my desk inside a little barricade I had created with my notebook, pocketbook, and two textbooks. For the time being it was safe, but Ч
"We can't carry that, um . . . we can't carry that around all day," said Logan, pointing at our child.
"Just what I was thinking," I answered. "But we have to."
"Yeah. Okay. Where will it be safe? In my backpack?"
"Not the way you sling that thing around. I'll put our child in my purse. She'll be safe there."
"Are you sure she won't suffocate? And how do you know it's a girl?"
"I don't. I just want a girl. And she won't suffocate. My bag doesn't close, see?" (My purse was a big woven bag. It was great for school because I could toss lots of stuff into it, and I didn't have to worry about zipping or unzipping it all day.)
"Okay," said Logan uncertainly.
"Hey, come on, this is going to be fun," I told him. I was standing up, settling our daughter in my purse.
"But what about gym? You and I have gym at the same time now. What are we going to do with her then? I'll be playing baseball. I can't bring her out on the field with me. It's too hot. Plus, I'd probably sit on her."
"Don't panic," I said, although I felt a teensy bit panicky myself. "I'll be doing aerobics in my gym class. I'll bring my bag with me and leave it where I can see it. She'll be fine."
"All right. I guess I'm just a nervous father."
"Well, relax. You're around kids all the time.
You're great with them. Pretend you're babysitting or something."
Logan relaxed. He looked fondly at our child, now nestled on a wad of Kleenex in my purse. "Maybe we should name her," he suggested.