Word: Enfant Terrible

enfant terrible

[ahn-fahn te-ree-bluh]

noun, plural enfants terribles

[ahn-fahn te-ree-bluh] (Show IPA). French.

1. an incorrigible child, as one whose behavior is embarrassing.

2. an outrageously outspoken or bold person who says and does indiscreet or irresponsible things.

3. a person whose work, thought, or lifestyle is so unconventional or avant-garde as to appear revolutionary or shocking.

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Maggie was in the supermarket.  Had she been there
before?  Well, it was not important.  She was there, 

and that was that.  Besides, she was more interested
in the small child standing in front of her.  It was an 

angelic little one, although the gender was impossible
to tell at such a young age, it did not matter.  

Maggie knew this child.  It was hers.  Her child, and
she felt a swell of pride in seeing it.

“Mommy, come on!” The child called to her.  

The child rushed away, leaving Maggie to dash to
keep up.   She found her child looking at a 

suspiciously empty aisle.  Why was it empty?
 Why wasn’t anyone attending to the issue?
 Such things were minor concerns.  Maggie
looked up at the sign above them.  Apparently,
when stocked, the entire aisle was dedicated to
candy.

“Mommy, where’s all the candy?” Her child asked.
 Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but found

 herself unable to do so.  “Mommy, why can’t I get
candy?  I want candy.”

The child continued to talk about how much it
wanted candy.  When Maggie failed to produce
the desired treats, its voice became louder.  The
child began to cry and scream and thrash around.
 Its  voice filled the store, becoming almost
deafeningly loud.

Maggie tried to comfort her child, but could only
watch in horror as it thrashed more violently and 

screamed louder.  The child seemed to tear the
very floor apart with its tantrum.  And that was 

when Maggie felt the stares.

The stares of the other shoppers.  They stood
around, unmoving, unspeaking.  There was no 

need for them to say a word.  Maggie knew what
they were thinking.  They were watching her. 

Judging her.  Criticizing her with their eyes.  They
all thought she was a bad mother.  Her inability to
quiet her child’s tantrum made her unfit for the
mantle of motherhood.  Even though the lack of
candy was not her fault, it did not matter to them.
 She was a bad mother, and that was that.

Maggie rushed into action.  She did everything she
could think of to calm her child down.  She spoke
soothing words.  She made promises.  She even
tried being stern and commanding.  Nothing
worked.  Nothing she said quieted her child.  In
fact, it screamed even louder and thrashed around
even more.  And the stares continued.  

She heard the whispers start.  Even over the
screams of her child, she could hear them.

“Terrible mother.”

“Can’t even handle one little tantrum.”

“She should never have had a child.”

“I feel embarrassed for her.”

They fell over her like a heavy cloak, wrapping her
up in the scathing reviews of her mothering skills.
 And she had no choice but to tolerate them, even
as she tried to resolve her child’s wild thrashing.
 It was no use.  The cloak of words became
heavier and heavier, making her bend with the
weight of disappointment.  It quickly became so
heavy that she crashed through the floor of the
supermarket, leaving all behind but the voices.

Maggie woke up, breathing deep and quick.  She
felt her forehead, feeling a light coating of 

cold sweat. She looked around the dark bedroom,
seeing the familiar silhouettes of the various items
around her.  She looked down at her large,
protruding stomach.

“You had better be a damn good kid.”   

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So, do any first time pregnant women out there have nightmares of this general nature? I'd

imagine someone must. I mean, having a child is a big thing, and must be really nerve wracking.

Plus, with all the hormones rushing around, it must be some serious nightmare fuel.