Shortlisted for the Mum Life Stories Micro Fiction Competition, Round 2: Infancy
I leave the gravel path for the woods, inhaling the earthy petrichor. It smells of life. Sunlight flickers as it filters through the branches, warm on my bare arms. The kids race ahead.
“Last one there’s a dirty rascal!” Lily shouts. She’s been reading a lot of Enid Blyton recently. Jack follows, making neeeeoooow and rooooaaaaar noises, as six-year-old boys do when they run.
A voice pipes up from over my shoulder. “Mummy, go faster!” Izzy’s in the carrier, swinging her legs, urging me to giddy-up.
“Okay, okay, we’re going,” I chuckle.
The familiar path is flanked by a blanket of bluebells buzzing with crickets and bumblebees. The leaves ahead rustle.
“Wassat?” cries Izzy. “Wassat noise?”
A squirrel shoots out of the undergrowth, then stops on the path, scrutinising us. I freeze.
“Siggle!” Izzy shrieks, and it’s gone, spiralling into the branches. “Get it, Mummy! Cuggle it! Cuggle you, siggle! Come downstairs!” she hollers.
“Squirrels don’t really do cuddles,” I murmur, undoing the carrier and carefully swinging it down. She squirms, face red with angst. I lift her into a hug. “You’ll have to make do with a Mummy cuddle.” I place her down and crouch, holding her hands. “Now, let’s go play with Lily and Jack by the stream, okay?”
“Ohhhkaaay,” she replies, in exactly the sulky intonation Lily uses when she’s been told to do her homework.
We hear the stream before we see it. Cool air sends goosepimples up my arms. We walk hand-in-hand until we reach the toppled willow that is our destination. The kids have already scampered up, shoes abandoned at its base.
“I’m a bewilderbeast; you can be a stormcutter.” Lily’s voice floats down from the canopy.
“No, I want to be a nightfury,” Jack protests.
“Up!” Izzy points towards the voices. “Izzy, up!”
“We can’t go up, sweetheart, the tree’s too big.” I call up: “Kids, can you come down and play with Izzy? She’s feeling left out.” They ignore me and carry on discussing which dragon they are in the game. I change tack: “Who wants a snack?”
“‘Nack! Onjen!” Izzy cries.
“No oranges, I’m afraid. How about a banana?”
“Nanoo! Nanoo!”
I fish one out, break off a piece and she stuffs it into her mouth. “Nanoo,” she mumbles happily, mouth full. I give her another, and sit on a tree stump. The others sidle up.
“Banana?”
“Is there anything else?” Jack grumbles.
“There’s a gingerbread man, but only one. You’ll have to share.”
“Ninjabled! Ninjabled!” Izzy cries, dropping the banana.
“Here, Lily, will you share it out? Fairly, please…”
“Yes, Mummy,” Lily replies, in her best Head-Girl-at-Malory-Towers voice, breaking off the head for Izzy, legs for Jack, and nibbling on the torso. Izzy toddles towards the water. I’m ready to leap up, but Lily catches her and takes her hand.
I watch them wade into the shallows. Their chatter mingles with the rushing water, words swept downstream.