Fran wiped her face off again. "Irene," she scolded. The twelve month old baby had been spitting out every spoonful of baby food that Françoise had gotten into her mouth. "You have to eat your food." Fran picked up the spoon and tried again, "It's mashed carrots, your favorite."
As if in response Irene giggled and smacked the spoon sending it to the floor with a clack. Fran sighed. "I wish your father was home," she whined. Albert was out on a mission for Dr. Gilmore with a couple of the others.
Fran's clothes were stained with baby food of various colors. Fran's hair was mussed and the shadows under her eyes were dark. She hadn't been getting much rest with Albert gone. They usually switched off on nights taking care of Irene when she woke up.
From the start Fran had known she couldn't produce milk. So much cybernetic work had been done in her chest it was physically impossible. Formula was the only way and though Fran hated that fact it had been nice to share the job of feeding Irene with her husband.
She looked at the kitchen, it was a mess. There was baby food everywhere caked onto the cabinets. Dishes in the sink had yet to be washed, there was a half eaten plate of spaghetti on the table. And the high chair was even dirtier. Fran took a sip of her coffee and made a face, it was cold. She took a second anyways hoping that the caffeine would hit her just this once.
Anything that normally effected humans was too weak for the cyborg. Coffee was one of those impotent things of the past. She drank it for the flavor these days.
Irene was going through a stage that Fran had been warned about. Still, it was hard for her to remain patient when Irene refused to eat. Fran didn't try again. She'd wait until Irene wanted to eat. That wouldn't be too long Fran hoped. There was a quiet for a few minutes until Irene cried.
She wanted to eat now. Fran tried again and Irene actually swallowed a bite. Francoise sighed and after finally getting a few bites of food into the girl she put Irene in her playpen and then went to take a nap. "I'll definitely be happy when your father gets home." She whispered before drifting to sleep.