I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

But I really am enjoying writing this story. :)

And Baby Makes Four

Growing Up Walker


An era was ending.

A baby era.

A toddler era.

A diaper era.

Because Annabel Margaret Walker was a big girl.

A two year old big girl.

And big girls went to the potty.

Her mothers of course, tenderly encouraged her.

"Ma-ba, pee!"

"Go, baby girl, go!"

There were some mishaps and slipups.

"Ooooh . . ."

"Not here! In the potty, baby girl, in the potty!"

A few messes, some wet floors.

Why don't we spend afternoon in the backyard? It's a good day for it.

It's raining, Dot.

What is your point, Bette? She's going to be wet soon anyway.

Patience, sister . . .

I know, I know.

But the sweet little girl and her determined mamas won out in the end.

Til she was all done with diapers.

I swear, sister, I'll bury them in the backyard tonight.

I'll bring the trumpet to play 'Taps'.

We don't own a trumpet, Dot.

Oh, right.


They kept him informed, their darling Jimmy.

And of course he encouraged her when he was home.

But it didn't really hit him how far his little girl had come.

Until one night Jimmy and his lovely wives were watching TV with Annabel sprawled across them.

"Next up on The Lawrence Welk show . . ."

Suddenly the girl stirred and wiggled down to the the floor.

And headed out of the room.

Turning suddenly, she grinned, baby girl and grownup all at once.

"I'll be right back."

And headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Her parents stared in surprise as some blond beauty who'd never done housework in her life advertised the wonders of Ajax household cleaner on the forgotten black and white screen.

"Did she just. . ."

"Yes, Jimmy, darling, I believe she did."

It was Annabel's first complete sentence, clear and calm and concise.

She was two years old.


She liked to hum and sing to herself, did Annabel Margaret.

Mostly nonsense words in the carefree tuneless cadence of the very young.

And even though she was pale and blond and not dusky and bejeweled, sometimes it reminded him of Ma Petite.

And she would look up and smile and he would smile back through the lump in his throat.

And remind himself he would be better.

That they, his family, had made him better.

Because no matter what he was now, he still had started out as Jimmy Darling, the Lobster Boy.

Protective, caring.

And he still was.

Sometimes a bit more than his daddy heart could take.

". . . passing of Ms. Monroe as an untimely Hollywood tragedy . . ."

The nightly news couldn't be called joyous by any stretch of the imagination.

Oh dear, the men of the world will surely miss her bosoms.

Oh hush, Bette. She seemed, I don't know, sad. Lonely. Why wasn't there anyone there with her? Why was she alone?

As they were musing over their grim considerations, they found their husband following a related, yet separate thought path.

"You know, I don't ever want her to like boys."

The twins' heads swiveled to face him.

"Who, darling?"

Jimmy nodded his head toward his small daughter, contentedly playing on the floor with some blocks.

His wives studied him for a few moments, playful smiles tracing across their identical faces.

"Would you prefer she like girls?" Dot questioned gently.

His new expression was priceless.

Stunned and bewildered and disgusted and considering all at the same time.

Finally, he mustered a few stammering words.

"No . . . well . . . no."

And their composure broke.

Bright smiles and light laughter accompanied their loving caresses of his cheek and sweet kisses.

"It's okay, darling . . ."

"We're not ready for it yet either."

"Mmmm, I love you two."

"We love you too, darling."

To which the tiny tyke on the floor piped up, having learned this response easily from her doting parents.

"Love you three!"


". . . green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!"

Jimmy paused in his path to the kitchen.

"Green eggs and ham? What, have they gone bad? I wouldn't like them either!"

The three of them giggled and he grinned his dimple at them before continuing on.

" . . . would not, could not on a boat! I would not, could not with a goat . . ."

This time he didn't even pause.

"Well, that's good. Because that's called bestilality. And bestiality is wrong."

His daughter burst into giggles as her mothers gasped their laughter.

"Jimmy!"

"What? It's true! Think of how bad that goat would feel. What is this book teaching my daughter?"

"Jimmy!"

"What?"

And he winked again at his little daughter giggling at her silly, silly daddy.

Having no idea at all what he was talking about.

As her mothers tried in vain to continue the story.

Even as their Jimmy discovered the perfect medium for his art.

". . . would not, could not in the rain . . ."

"I hope not. He'd get pneumonia."

" . . . in the dark. Not in a tree . . ."

"Fall out and stab himself in the butt with the fork."

". . . with a fox . . ."

"Especially if it has rabies."

Finally, swallowing both their laughter and growing frustration, they closed the book.

Set it down.

Picked up their precious daughter.

And handed her to her daddy.

Pecked him on the cheek.

Smooched their precious little one.

"Since you are such a divine orator, Jimmy darling, you may read to her and put her to bed."

And sashayed away.

He stood, dumbfounded for a long moment, his little girl's soft, chubby arms wrapped comfortably around his neck as she rested in the crook of his arm,

"Uh, okay."

And cast around for a suitable book to read.

"Which one do you want, baby girl?"

She grinned big and happy.

"Eggs and Ham!"

Of course.

And so he sat down.

And tried to read.

"I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!"

Until . . .

"Daddy, no! Read silly!"

And so he did.

It was . . . different.

The fox got scurvy on the boat.

A whale ate the train and pooped it back out.

Among other changes.

But, in the end, just before Jimmy's nearly three year old daughter requested yet another glass of water, the tall grouchy guy decided he did like green eggs and ham.

And then they were stolen by a pirate leprechaun who only ate green foods.

Like boogers.


Hey, loyal readers! Been gone from this story awhile, I know. My bad. So this is more of an ease back in.

This chapter is dedicated to my husband. King of Bizarre Story Book Renditions. As well as singing pop songs (aka Lady Gaga) in the voice of Kermit the Frog. I love you, baby ;D

Thanks to haily94, autumnrose2010, DinahRay, LuciaDiAngelo, midnightrebellion86, Bumblebee93, and brigid1318 for your kind reviews so long ago.