ready to be amazed!
You know that whingeing babies do? Not really crying – more like someone sawing metal? That’s the noise Morgan was making.
Kenny stuck her fingers in her ears. “Tell Tiff to make it stop!”
Rosie shook her head. “She won’t come till she’s ready. Tiff’s dead stubborn.”
“Great,” said Lyndz.
“The poor thing just needs changing,” said Fliss.
“Duh,” I said. “Like we didn’t know! Go on, Lyndz. You do it.”
“Uh-uh,” said Lyndz. “Poo is strictly for grown-ups.”
“Kenny?” I said hopefully.
She swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she said. “I lurve blood and gore, but I don’t much go for you-know-what.”
I sighed. “Then I volunteer Rosie, OK? It’s her house.”
“Hear that, Rosie?” said Lyndz. “You’re Tiff’s stunt double.”
“Go girl, go girl,” we chanted.
“All right,” said Rosie unhappily. She dashed out of the room and we heard her rooting in cupboards.
When she came back, we fell about. Rosie is totally weird. I mean, I don’t blame her for sticking a peg on her nose. I can even see why she put on big rubber gloves. But swimming goggles!!!
“Don’t forget the baby wipes,” said Fliss.
Rosie didn’t move, so I fetched them.
“Now you need the baby,” said Fliss encouragingly.
Rosie started towards the cot, like someone in a ve-ry slow action replay.
“Durn durn DURN – nappy disposal squad moving in,” I whispered.
“Watch out, Rosie. It might explode,” Kenny giggled.
“It already DID,” said Lyndz, pinching her nose.
The minute the baby saw Rosie, it stopped crying, as if someone had switched it off at the mains. Then its mouth turned down, like a cartoon baby, and it sucked in a HUGE breath.
“Yikes, it’s going to scream!” warned Lyndz.
It did. It screamed itself sky-blue purple.
“Hey, I can see its tiny tonsils wiggling,” said Kenny.
It was the worst noise I ever heard. Worse than Dad’s car alarm. If our baby cries like that, forget silver curtains. I’m having my room soundproofed!
“Can babies BURST?” I asked anxiously.
Rosie didn’t know what to do. She just stood there flapping her hands. Which looks dead weird when you’re wearing goggles, orange Marigolds and a bright pink clothes peg!
“I dode thig Borgan liges be,” she wailed.
Meanwhile, totally trustworthy Tiffany was still on the phone. We could hear her between screams. I know love makes you blind. But I didn’t know it made you deaf as well. Boy, is the Sleepover Club ever out of its depth this time, I thought.
Then suddenly Fliss gave a tiny cough. “I think Morgan’s a bit scared of your goggles, Rosie,” she said shyly. “Shall I change her?”
Are you amazed? WE were! I don’t know why she waited so long, mind you. It’s not like the rest of us were falling over ourselves for the honour, or anything! But Fliss really had the magic touch. The minute she unfastened its little sleepsuit, the baby went all quiet and trusting.
I’ll spare you the gruesome details. Except to say we had scientific PROOF that Morgan Quormby is a girl baby. (I couldn’t tell till then. Probably you couldn’t either?) And finally the baby was burbling happily in her cot again. Major relief!
“Fliss, you’re a star!” I said. I was ashamed, to tell you the truth. We’re always having a go at Fliss for being such an airhead. But when it came to it, she was the only one who didn’t freak out!
“I didn’t mind,” Fliss said, going as pink as Rosie’s clothes peg. “I’ve helped Maria with Posy loads of times.” (Did you remember that Maria is Fliss’s dad’s wife and Posy is their new baby? You did? Excellent!)
But Rosie was working herself into a major strop. Suddenly she grabbed the phone and screamed down the line, “Tiff! It’s not fair. You’re supposed to be babysitting. Not us!”
“In a MINUTE!” Tiff screamed back. “This is IMPORTANT, OK! This is my FUTURE!”
Rosie slammed the phone back down. “I
You know that whingeing babies do? Not really crying – more like someone sawing metal? That’s the noise Morgan was making.
Kenny stuck her fingers in her ears. “Tell Tiff to make it stop!”
Rosie shook her head. “She won’t come till she’s ready. Tiff’s dead stubborn.”
“Great,” said Lyndz.
“The poor thing just needs changing,” said Fliss.
“Duh,” I said. “Like we didn’t know! Go on, Lyndz. You do it.”
“Uh-uh,” said Lyndz. “Poo is strictly for grown-ups.”
“Kenny?” I said hopefully.
She swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she said. “I lurve blood and gore, but I don’t much go for you-know-what.”
I sighed. “Then I volunteer Rosie, OK? It’s her house.”
“Hear that, Rosie?” said Lyndz. “You’re Tiff’s stunt double.”
“Go girl, go girl,” we chanted.
“All right,” said Rosie unhappily. She dashed out of the room and we heard her rooting in cupboards.
When she came back, we fell about. Rosie is totally weird. I mean, I don’t blame her for sticking a peg on her nose. I can even see why she put on big rubber gloves. But swimming goggles!!!
“Don’t forget the baby wipes,” said Fliss.
Rosie didn’t move, so I fetched them.
“Now you need the baby,” said Fliss encouragingly.
Rosie started towards the cot, like someone in a ve-ry slow action replay.
“Durn durn DURN – nappy disposal squad moving in,” I whispered.
“Watch out, Rosie. It might explode,” Kenny giggled.
“It already DID,” said Lyndz, pinching her nose.
The minute the baby saw Rosie, it stopped crying, as if someone had switched it off at the mains. Then its mouth turned down, like a cartoon baby, and it sucked in a HUGE breath.
“Yikes, it’s going to scream!” warned Lyndz.
It did. It screamed itself sky-blue purple.
“Hey, I can see its tiny tonsils wiggling,” said Kenny.
It was the worst noise I ever heard. Worse than Dad’s car alarm. If our baby cries like that, forget silver curtains. I’m having my room soundproofed!
“Can babies BURST?” I asked anxiously.
Rosie didn’t know what to do. She just stood there flapping her hands. Which looks dead weird when you’re wearing goggles, orange Marigolds and a bright pink clothes peg!
“I dode thig Borgan liges be,” she wailed.
Meanwhile, totally trustworthy Tiffany was still on the phone. We could hear her between screams. I know love makes you blind. But I didn’t know it made you deaf as well. Boy, is the Sleepover Club ever out of its depth this time, I thought.
Then suddenly Fliss gave a tiny cough. “I think Morgan’s a bit scared of your goggles, Rosie,” she said shyly. “Shall I change her?”
Are you amazed? WE were! I don’t know why she waited so long, mind you. It’s not like the rest of us were falling over ourselves for the honour, or anything! But Fliss really had the magic touch. The minute she unfastened its little sleepsuit, the baby went all quiet and trusting.
I’ll spare you the gruesome details. Except to say we had scientific PROOF that Morgan Quormby is a girl baby. (I couldn’t tell till then. Probably you couldn’t either?) And finally the baby was burbling happily in her cot again. Major relief!
“Fliss, you’re a star!” I said. I was ashamed, to tell you the truth. We’re always having a go at Fliss for being such an airhead. But when it came to it, she was the only one who didn’t freak out!
“I didn’t mind,” Fliss said, going as pink as Rosie’s clothes peg. “I’ve helped Maria with Posy loads of times.” (Did you remember that Maria is Fliss’s dad’s wife and Posy is their new baby? You did? Excellent!)
But Rosie was working herself into a major strop. Suddenly she grabbed the phone and screamed down the line, “Tiff! It’s not fair. You’re supposed to be babysitting. Not us!”
“In a MINUTE!” Tiff screamed back. “This is IMPORTANT, OK! This is my FUTURE!”
Rosie slammed the phone back down. “I
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