Author's note: Thank you all for the reviews :) To the Anon who commented about the "Monday's Child" poem, I know that that's where the character's name came from, and I was going to do that, but the words just sort of came out of Pugsley's mouth and I thought it worked well and was kind of sweet. I did plan to address the poem issue in this chapter though. Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, the Addams Family in any of it's forms
In a dark bedroom a young woman with a perfect hourglass figure lay stretched across the large bed, blankets disheveled, a large plant laying next to her. The woman's eyes fluttered open as the plant cuddled up against her. She stroked it gently.
"Good morning, Cleopatra," she greeted.
The plant flapped about in return.
"Where's Gomez?"
Cleopatra turned and pointed out the door with her head.
"Thank you darling," Morticia placed a kiss on one of the plant's leaves, and slowly slipped out of bed.
She glided down the hall, peeking through each open door until she came to the one with the octopuses painted on it. The door was ajar, revealing a robed man, knelt next to a small crib. He was whispering to the baby inside.
"You mustn't ever tell you're brother this, but you're absolutely perfect. When he was born he was handsome of course, how could he not be with that lovely drooping chin? But you, my little Paloma, you were something else. Not a wrinkle on you, perfectly smooth skin. Like porcelain. Like your mother."
Morticia smiled, she could already tell that her husband was going to absolutely spoil that little infant, still only days old. She pushed the door open, causing it to creak, and Gomez to turn around.
"Good morning, Querida," he said. "I didn't know you were up."
"I woke up and you were gone," she replied. "It was strange. That's never happened before."
"She was crying," Gomez gestured to the small child. "I didn't want to wake you."
Morticia walked over and picked up the child from her crib, gently rocking her.
"Little Wednesday," Morticia ran a slender finger gently across the girl's cheek. "So perfect."
Gomez stood up, planting a kiss on forehead's of both mother and child, "She takes after you."
They heard a soft thumping, and both turned to face the door. There stood their plump, pajama clad toddler, his spiked hair a mess, and the left side of his face caked in dried saliva.
"Hungry Mother," he told her.
Morticia passed her baby to her husband and reached forward, taking Pugsley's hand in her own.
"Gomez, take Wednesday down to the kitchen, I'll tidy Pugsley up a little first."
Morticia walked her son to his bedroom and had him climb up onto the bed while she rifled through his closet, finding a nice shirt and trousers for him to wear. She finally selected a striped top and black trousers. She crossed the room and unbuttoned his pajamas, slipping him out of them. She let out a little gasp when she saw his pale arm. There was a semi-circular red mark on it.
"Pugsley, what happened?"
"Wednesday," he replied.
"She's only four days old, Pugsley," Morticia's brow furrowed into a rare frown. "How did she do that?"
"She bit me."
"She doesn't have teeth."
"Didn't use teeth," he curled his lips over his own teeth, taking his mother's hand and clamping down on it.
Morticia looked down at her hand, a small semi-circular red mark was already forming, "Oh."
She paused for a moment and she pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her son's face clean, "Dear, how did your arm get close enough to the baby for her to do that?"
"I was giving her a stick of dynamite," he answered matter-of-factly.
She nodded, then took his hand, "Come on darling, let's go see what Grandmama has prepared for breakfast."
Pugsley almost pulled her over in his eager attempt to race downstairs. What they found in the kitchen was pandemonium. Mama and Lurch were madly trying to catch something that had escaped from the pot on the stove, with Thing trying to grab it everytime it came close enough to him, and Fester and Gomez were rather unsuccessfully trying to stop Wednesday from screaming. Pugsley grinned broadly and joined in the chase after their breakfast. Morticia stood in the doorway for a moment, and then quietly asked,
"What's going on?"
Everything stopped.
Gomez looked at her, "Wednesday took the top off the pot on the stove and let breakfast escape, and then she started screaming when everyone started running about."
Morticia took a deep breath, then turned to the creature that stood near the refrigerator with it's head bowed in shame, "Will you please go back in the pot?"
It slunk (slank?) back towards the stove, taking the pot lid between it's teeth and slipping backwards in, covering to pot on it's way.
"Thank you," Morticia called to the pot. "How long until it's ready, mama?"
"About five minutes now," Mama replied, peeking inside the pot to check on the creature.
"Alright," Morticia made her way to the kitchen table, taking the bottle of cyanide and yak's milk from Gomez and passing it to Wednesday. "Now we can settle down to a nice quiet breakfast. And Wednesday, you must promise not to interfere with Grandmama's cooking until you're older."
The baby gurgled in reply.
After a harrowing day spent trying to stop their two young children from killing each other, and trying to stop Fester from encouraging it, the tired parents lay in each others arms on their bed. Gomez took a puff of his cigar, blowing out smoke rings. Morticia reached forward and batted at them with her hand, smiling a little.
"It's nice that Pugsley and Wednesday seem to be getting along already, isn't it darling," she asked, as she attempted to slip her arm through a smoke ring like a bracelet.
"Oh yes, Cara Mia," Gomez replied.
"Ils sont merveilleux," Morticia remarked.
"Tish, that's French!" Gomez tossed aside his cigar and began kissing her hand.
She turned and took his face in her hands, tenderly kissing him. Then a very loud cry came from down the hall.
Gomez groaned, pulling away from his beloved as she stood up and floated towards the door.
"Now Gomez," she smiled at him. "Don't be bitter. After all, Wednesday's child is full of woe. And how wonderful that ours is living up to her name."
"She's perfect," Gomez replied. "But darling, don't be too long at getting her settled. I'll be waiting."
"Don't worry Bubela," Morticia reached for her robe and opened their bedroom door. "I won't be."
The crying stopped and Morticia cocked her head, listening carefully. She silently hung up her robe again and returned to the bed. Just as she was about to slip back into her husband's arms the wailing began again. Gomez let out another loud moan as Morticia turned on the spot and slipped out of the room.
"Wednesday's child..." he mumbled to himself, reaching to his bedside table and lighting another cigar, settling down to wait for his beloved's return.