It’s dark time. Time for beddies. You go nite-nite in a nice, big play room with your bestest babies nuzzled up in a fluff-pile in your cribby bed in the corner. You have six adorable babbehs and you wuv them all so much. Pookie is a talkie perlino baby. She has a red little bow on top of her head with a tiny tuft of fur poking out. Twinkle is a blue baby unicorn with an indigo tail and pink streaks on his flank. Cookie is an earthie with white, orange, brown and black markings on her fur making her look like a little cow fluffy. Lemon Drop is a yellow earthie colt with a bisque tail. Racer is a chestnut pegasus foal with a soft blonde mane and tail.
Last but certainly not least is little Mystic, a weanling alicorn who just so happens to be the eldest. She is a pretty foal with white fur, a short yellow curly mane and tail and two long, large wings. She looks so peaceful as she lays beneath mummah Vanilla’s fluff, her tiny chin laying on the ground between her hooves. She makes tiny peep-peeps in her dweamie-sweepies, her tiny little back hooves twitching and kicking as she dreams of chasing Vanilla’s miwkie pwaces. The sky wawa gently taps on the housie and waww-see-pwaces breaking the silence that otherwise occupied the housie. Until the biggest boomie noisies rocked the wawws of the housie and bad sky wights flashed across the waww-see-pwaces, immediately scaring you and your band of babbehs awake.
Cries of your foals sobbing and wailing uncontrollably fills your tired ears as you too shiver and tremble under the loud boom-booms that continue shaking the housie. You feel a dampness underneath you and your foals and you look down to the cribby bed and see a big puddle of scaredy peepee with pellets of poo left behind by your panicking foals. Oh noes! Daddy will not like the sight of that in the morning.You wanted so desperately to jump out of the cribby bed and run straight to daddy’s room for huggies and sleep with him until the meanie sky noisies went away, but you couldn’t abandon your foals. And there was no way your foals could sleep with you in the big hoomin beddie. Your daddy could easily roll over and crush them all! And that would give you the worstest heart hurties that not even spgetti could even heal.
“Nu wike scawy boom boom noises!”
“Mummah wai sky makin’ bwightie fwashies?”
“Huuuuhuuu, make it stahp!” Little Mystic cries hiding her face behind her hooves. You comfortingly scoot her closer to your fluff shooshing the other babies and singing a soft mummah song to console your foals.
“Wockabai babbehs on da tweetop
Wen da win bwows da cwadwe will wock
Wen da bouwgh fawws da cwadwe wiww faww
An’ down wiww come babbeh cwadwe an’ aww,”
That seems to have soothed the foals somewhat, now going from wailing, peeing, pooping, drooling and snotting all over the beddie sheets to wiggling further into your fluff sucking their hooves and shivering/whimpering. You begin to shush your babies softly, then remembering your nice nanny-mummah Mam-Mam mentioning to you about how the meanie sky boom booms work. If you count the widdwe fowebahs between the woud boom booms and bwight sky fwashies, the further the bad boom booms and fwashies went away! You look down to your foals and try to explain this to them. They’re only talkie babies, and fluffies in general have a short attention span so their retention with this exercise may not stick and they may get upset again. Oh well, it’s worth a shot.
“Babbehs, shhh shhhh, babbehs. It otay. Mummah nu wet meanie ousside munstahs huwt 'ou. Pwease. Wisten tu mummah.” You tell them, looking them all seriously in the eye. All the foals calm down for once, all their technicolor eyes on you. “Mummah Mam-Mam taught Vaniwwa dat if 'ou can count da widdwe fowebahs between da bad meanie boom booms and sky fwashies, da furder away da boomies and fwashies awe!” She explains, moving her hooves in the air as she speaks. The babies respond by looking to each other and then back up to their mommy.
“Weawwy?” Twinkle asks, tilting his head curiously.
“So if babbehs do counties, da boom boom meanies wiww gu 'way?” Pookie asks, her nub little tail wagging. Out of all the babies who have been bawling their eyes out and burying themselves into their mother, little Pookie didn’t shed a tear. Actually, she was giggling during the bouts of thunder, liking “da funny wowd tings an’ pwetty bwight wights”. She stomps her hooves in place, panting like a little excited puppy.
You smile down at the earthie foal. “Yus. If babbehs count wif mummah, an’ use heaw-pwaces to wisten tu da sky boom booms gu ‘way between foebahs, da bad sky wawa an’ odda scawy noisies gu 'way too.” You explain.
“Oh, Mystic get it!” The little blonde alicorn pipes up. Of course she did. She’s an alicorn.
You nod, hearing another loud bang followed by more wind and rain pounding against the housie. She gathers her foals in her hooves and snuggles up to them, using the countie numbers her Mam-Mam taught them. One…two…twee…fou…five…six…seben…eight…nine…ten…BOOM!
You keep your babies close and count with them between the seconds of every flash and boom-boom that came by. You whisper sweet wordies into their little heaw pwaces, reminding them that the sky wawa an’ wooshie winds couldn’t get in and hurt them. Soon, another bright time will come and they can forget all about this icky dawk time and spend another day in their fun saferoom with their blockies, and nummies, and wicky cweanies and make good poopies and peepees in the litterbox and if they’re all good fluffies they can watch Fluff Teebee and even have some skettie for mama and baby biscuits for the little ones. You keep counting with them until one by one they tire themselves out and fall asleep. The boom-booms soon stop along with the bwight fwashies and wind wooshies. You nestle your babies near your belly fluff and curl up with a smile on your face. You have such good babies. You think as you drift off to sleep.
The next morning, the bright yellow ball in the sky beams pretty lights down onto the cribby bed. Your babies are all stirring and stretching and yawning. Little Lemon Drop shakes your leg, trying to wake you up.
“Mummah! Mummah! Mummah make bad poopies!” He cries, panickedly pointing a hoof down to all the little rabbit turds spread out the bedding of the crib. There’s a good sized pile of poo behind your tail and the whole bed is wet from the scaredy peepees you and your babies made last night and your face freezes in fear.
“Oh nuu! Nuu!! Babbehs an’ mummah made bad peepees and poopies in da cwibby bed! Nuuhuuuhuu…mummah sowwy babbehs. Nu mean tuu! Mummah wub babbehs. Twy tu be gud mummah. But nu wan weave babbehs awone in dawkie pwace wif meanie boom booms and bad sky wawa wooshies! Wan’ sweep wif daddy but he may woww ovah an’ gib babbehs fowebah sweepies! Uhuhuhuuuhhu…am wowstet mummah ebah!” You sob into your hooves, slamming them onto the sheets of the bed as you sniffle. Your babies come over to comfort you.
“Mummah nu be saddies. It otay. Babbehs an’ mummah got scawedies. ‘Ou onwy wan’ pwotecc babbehs.” Mystic reassures.
“Yeah!” Cookie agrees. “Mummah bestest mummah ebah. Hewp babbehs nu be 'fwaid of dawk time sky wawa!”
You wipe your face with your hooves. “Weawwy?” You ask, your green eyes puffy.
All of your babies nod. You sit up, wiping your snotty nose with your hoof before lowering the front of the cribby bed and stepping down, helping your foals down one by one.
“Come on, babbehs. Gon’ get cwean beddie sheets and den’ mummah get bestest nummies fow bestest miwkies!” You tell them, exiting the saferoom and heading down the hallway to Mam-Mam’s room.