Chapter One
Guess What, Peter?Life was going along okay when my mother and fatherdropped the news. Bam! Just like that.
"We have something wonderful to tell you, Peter,"Mom said before dinner. She was slicing carrots intothe salad bowl. I grabbed one.
"What is it?" I asked. I figured maybe my father''sbeen made president of the company. Or maybe myteacher phoned, saying that even though I don''t getthe best grades in the fifth grade, I am definitely thesmartest kid in the class.
"We''re going to have a baby," Mom said.
"We''re going to what?" I asked, starting to choke.Dad had to whack me on the back. Tiny pieces ofchewed up carrot flew out of my mouth and hit thecounter. Mom wiped them up with a sponge.
"Have a baby," Dad said.
"You mean you''re pregnant?" I asked Mom.
"That''s right," she told me, patting her middle. "Almostfour months."
"Four months! You''ve known for four months andyou didn''t tell me?"
"We wanted to be sure," Dad said.
"It took you four months to be sure?"
"I saw the doctor for the second time today," Momsaid. "The baby''s due in February." She reached overand tried to tousle my hair. I ducked and got out ofthe way before she could touch me.
Dad took the lid off the pot on the stove and stirredup the stew. Mom went back to slicing carrots. You''dhave thought we were discussing the weather.
"How could you?" I shouted. "How could you?Isn''t one enough?"
They both stopped and looked at me.
I kept right on shouting. "Another Fudge! Justwhat this family needs." I turned and stormed downthe hall.
Fudge, my four-year-old brother, was in the livingroom. He was shoving crackers into his mouth andlaughing like a loon at Sesame Street on TV. I lookedat him and thought about having to go through it allover again. The kicking and the screaming and themesses and more-much more. I felt so angry that Ikicked the wall.
Fudge turned. "Hi, Pee-tah," he said.
"You are the biggest pain ever invented!" I yelled.
He tossed a handful of crackers at me.
I raced to my room and slammed the door, so hardmy map of the world fell off the wall and landed onthe bed. My dog, Turtle, barked. I opened the doorjust enough to let him squeeze through, then slammedit shut again. I pulled my Adidas bag out of the closetand emptied two dresser drawers into it. AnotherFudge, I said to myself. They''re going to have anotherFudge.
There was a knock at my door, and Dad called,"Peter ..."
"Go away," I told him.
"I''d like to talk to you," he said.
"About what?" As if I didn''t know.
"The baby."
"What baby?"
"You know what baby!"
"We don''t need another baby."
"Need it or not, it''s coming," Dad said. "So youmight as well get used to the idea."
"Never!"
"We''ll talk about it later," Dad said. "In the meantime,scrub up. It''s time for dinner."
"I''m not hungry."
I zipped up my bag, grabbed a jacket and openedmy bedroom door. No one was there. I marched downthe hall and found my parents in the kitchen.
"I''m leaving," I announced. "I''m not going to hangaround waiting for another Fudge to get born. Goodbye."
I didn''t move. I just stood there, waiting to seewhat they''d do next.
"Where are you going?" Mom asked. She tookfour plates out of the cabinet and handed them toDad.
"To Jimmy Fargo''s," I said, although until that momentI hadn''t thought at all about where I would go.
"They have a one-bedroom apartment," Mom said."You''d be very crowded."
"Then I''ll go to Grandma''s. She''ll be happy tohave me."
"Grandma''s in Boston for the week, visiting AuntLinda."
"Oh."
"So why don''t you scrub up and have your dinner,and then you can decide where to go," Mom said.
I didn''t want to admit that I was hungry, but I was.And all those good smells coming from the pots andpans on the stove were making my mouth water. So Idropped my Adidas bag and went down the hall to thebathroom.
Fudge was at the sink. He stood on his stool, latheringhis hands with three inches of suds. "Hello, youmust be Bert," he said in his best Sesame Street voice."My name is Ernie. Glad to meet you." He offered meone of his sudsy little hands.
"Roll up your sleeves," I told him. "You''re makinga mess."
"Mess, mess ... I love to make a mess," he sang.
"We know ... we know," I told him.
I ran my hands under the faucet and dried themon my jeans.
When we got to the table, Fudge arranged himselfin his chair. Since he refuses to sit in his boosterseat, he has to kneel so that he can reach his placeat the table. "Pee-tah didn''t scrub," he said. "He onlyrinsed."
"You little ..." I started to say, but Fudge was alreadyyapping away to my father.
"Hello, I''m Bert. You must be Ernie."
"That''s right," my father said, playing along withhim. "How are you, Bert?"
"Well, I''ll tell you," Fudge said. "My liver''s turninggreen and my toenails are falling off."
"Sorry to hear that, Bert," my father said. "Maybetomorrow will be a better day."
"Yes, maybe," Fudge said.
I shook my head and piled some mashed potatoeson my plate. Then I drowned them in gravy. "Rememberwhen we took Fudge to Hamburger Heaven," Isaid, "and he smeared the mashed potatoes all overthe wall?"
"I did that?" Fudge asked, suddenly interested.
"Yes," I told him, "and you dumped a plate of peason your head too."
My mother started to laugh. "I''d forgotten allabout that day."
"Too bad you didn''t remember before you decidedto have another baby," I said.
"Baby?" Fudge asked.
My mother and father looked at each other. I gotthe message. They hadn''t told Fudge the good newsyet.
"Yes," Mom said. "We''re going to have a baby."
"Tomorrow?" Fudge asked.
"No, not tomorrow," Mom said.
"When?" Fudge asked.
"February." Dad said.
"January, February, March, April, May, June,July ..." Fudge recited.
"Okay ... okay ..." I said. "We all know howsmart you are."
"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty ..."
"Enough!" I said.
"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, R, B, Y, Z ..."
"Will somebody turn him off?" I said.
Fudge was quiet for a few minutes. Then he said,"What kind of new baby will it be?"
"Let''s hope it''s not like you," I said.
"Why not? I was a good baby, wasn''t I, Mommy?"
"You were an interesting baby, Fudgie," Momsaid.
"See, I was an interesting baby," he said to me.
"And Peter was a sweet baby," Mom said. "He wasvery quiet."
"Lucky you had me first," I said to Mom, "or youmight not have had any more kids."
"Was I a quiet baby, too?" Fudge asked.
"I wouldn''t say that," Dad said.
"I want to see the baby," Fudge said.
"You will."
"Now!"
"You can''t see it now," Dad said.
"Why not?" Fudge asked.
"Because it''s inside me," Mom told him.
Here it comes, I thought, the big question. When Iasked it, I got a book called How Babies Are Made. Iwondered what Mom and Dad would say to Fudge.But Fudge didn''t ask. Instead, he banged his spoonagainst his plate and howled. "I want to see the baby.I want to see the baby now!"
"You''ll have to wait until February," Dad said, "justlike the rest of us."
"Now now now!" Fudge screamed.
Another five years of this, I thought. Maybe evenmore. And who''s to say that they aren''t going to keep onhaving babies, one after the other. "Excuse me," I said,getting up from the table. I went into the kitchen andgrabbed my Adidas bag. Then I stood in the doorwayand called, "Well, I''d better be on my way." I sort ofwaved good-bye.
"Where is Pee-tah going?" Fudge asked.
"I''m running away," I told him. "But I''ll comeback to visit. Someday."
"No, Pee-tah ... don''t go!" Fudge jumped offhis chair and ran to me. He grabbed my leg andstarted bawling. "Pee-tah ... Pee-tah ... take me withyou."
I tried to shake him off my leg but I couldn''t. Hecan be really strong. I looked at my mother andfather. Then I looked down at Fudge, who gave me thesame look as Turtle when he''s begging for a biscuit."If only I knew for sure what the baby would be like,"I said.
"Take a chance, Peter," Dad said. "The baby won''tnecessarily be anything like Fudge."
"But it won''t necessarily not be like him either," Ianswered.
Fudge tugged at my leg. "I want an interestingbaby," he said. "Like me."
I sighed. "If you think it''s going to sleep in myroom, you''re crazy," I told Mom and Dad.
"The baby will sleep in here," Mom said. "In thedining area."
"Then where will we eat?"
"Oh, we''ll think of something," Mom said. I put my Adidas bag down and tried shakingFudge off one more time. "Okay," I said, "I''ll stay fornow. But when the baby comes, if I don''t like it, I''mleaving."
"Me too," Fudge said. "Sam got a new baby and itsmells." He held his nose. "P.U."
"Who wants dessert?" Dad asked. "It''s vanilla pudding."
"I do ... I do ..." Fudge yelped. He let go of meand climbed into his chair.
"Peter?" Dad said.
"Sure, why not?" And I sat down at the table too.
Mom reached over and tousled my hair. This timeI let her.
Chapter Two
Cutchie-Cutchie-CooBefore the end of the week, Fudge asked the big question."How did the baby get inside you, Mommy?" SoMom borrowed my copy of How Babies Are Made, andshe read it to Fudge.
As soon as he had the facts straight, he was tellinganybody and everybody exactly how Mom and Dadhad made the baby. He told Henry, our elevator operator.Henry smiled and said, "That''s a mouthful for asmall fry like you."
He told the checker at the supermarket. Her eyesgot bigger and bigger until Mom said, "That''s enough,Fudgie."
"But I''m just getting to the good part," Fudge said.
"Peter," Mom said, "it''s getting very warm in here.Why don''t you take Fudge outside?"
He saw a pregnant woman on the bus and said, "Iknow what''s growing inside you, and I know how itgot there too." The woman got up and changed herseat.
He told Grandma. She said to my mother, "Anne,do you think it''s wise for him to know so much? Inmy days we talked about the stork."
"What''s a stork?" Fudge asked.
"It''s a big bird," I told him.
"Like Big Bird on Sesame Street?"
"Not exactly."
"I like birds," Fudge said. "I want to be one whenI grow up."
"You can''t be a bird," Grandma said.
"Why not?"
"Because you''re a boy."
"So what?" Fudge said, and he laughed like crazy and turned somersaults on the floor.
Fudge never stopped talking about his favoritesubject. He told his preschool class, and his teacherwas so impressed she phoned and asked Mom tocome to school. The children had a lot of questionsfor her. So Mom went to Fudge''s class and enjoyed itso much she offered to come to my class too. I toldher, "No thanks!"
I hadn''t told anyone she was going to have a baby,except Jimmy Fargo. I tell him just about everything.And Sheila Tubman knew, because she lives in ourbuilding and could see that Mom was pregnant.
"She''s very old to be having a baby, isn''t she?"Sheila asked one afternoon.
"She''s thirty-four," I said.
"Sheila opened her mouth. "Oh, she''s really old!"
"She''s not as old as your mother," I said. I had noidea how old Mrs. Tubman was, but Sheila''s sister,Libby, was thirteen, so I guessed that Mrs. Tubmanwas older than Mom.
"But you don''t see my mother having a baby, doyou?" Sheila asked.
"No ... but ..." I couldn''t think of anything elseto say. I didn''t understand what she was getting atanyway.
When I went upstairs I asked Mom, "Isn''t thirty-fourold to be having a baby?"
"I don''t think so," Mom said. "Why?"
"Just wondering."
"Grandma had Aunt Linda when she was thirty-eight."
"Oh." So my mother wasn''t the oldest woman inthe world to be having a baby. And Sheila didn''t knowwhat she was talking about, as usual.
* * *
On February 26, while my fifth grade class was on atrip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, my sister wasborn. Later I found out that she was born at exactly2:04 in the afternoon, just as we were in the EgyptianRoom, studying the mummies.
They named her Tamara Roxanne, but for weekseverybody called her The Baby. "The Baby is crying.""The Baby is hungry." "Shush.... The Baby is sleeping."
Soon, instead of calling her The Baby, Mom startedsaying dumb things, like "How''s my little Tootsie-Wootsie?"as if The Baby could answer her. "Does mylittle Tootsie-Wootsie need to be changed?" Yes, almostalways! "Does my little Tootsie-Wootsie need a feeding?"Yes, almost always!
And Mom''s little Tootsie-Wootsie never slept morethan two hours at a time. Every night I''d wake up toher howls. Turtle, who slept at the foot of my bed, wokeup too. Then he''d howl along with her. A regular duet!
By the time she was one month old, everybody wascalling her Tootsie. Right away I could see that therewould be problems. I tried to warn my mother and father."When she goes to school with a name like that,the kids are going to tease her. They''ll call her TootsieRoll. Or worse!"
Mom and Dad just laughed. "Oh Peter, you''re sofunny."
Only I wasn''t being funny at all. I knew what I wastalking about. But there was nothing I could do aboutit. I had a brother called Fudge. And now I had asister called Tootsie. Maybe what my parents reallywanted was a candy factory. I wondered how come Igot off so easy.
Tootsie was much smaller than I''d expected, butshe was tough. I found that out when Fudge tried topull off her toes. "I just wanted to see what wouldhappen," he explained when Tootsie screamed.
"You must never do that again!" Mom told him."How would you like it if Peter tried to pull off yourtoes?"
I couldn''t help laughing at that one.
"Peter knows my toes don''t come off," Fudge said.
"Well, neither do Tootsie''s!" Mom said.
One afternoon when I came home from school, Tootsiewasn''t in her crib. I figured Mom was feeding her,so I went to her bedroom to say hello. Mom was lyingon her bed with her hands over her eyes. "Hi," I said."Where''s Tootsie?"
"In her crib, asleep," Mom muttered.
"No, she''s not."
Continues...
Excerpted from Superfudgeby Judy Blume Copyright © 1996 by Judy Blume. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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