Miss Celia gone and adopted a baby, seven months old. A fat one with stomach rolls I ain't never seen before or ever will again. My boy Benny, now I thought he was fat, but when you put those two babies side by side, my Benny is skinny as Miss Celia on a juice diet. His head is also small for the rest a him, his face though is something special. Law, that boy gone be handsome.

After Baby Johnny home for one week, Miss Celia already ordered from one a her magazines a book on how to look after your baby. She ain't so lazy no more, so she goes out every morning to check the mailbox for that book.

"Minny, why is it takin' so long?" Miss Celia asks after four days.

Politely I tell her, "Miss Celia, by the time it gets here, you already gonna know what you doin'." Really, I don't believe that none. She ain't able to burp Baby Johnny, she cringes when she changes his diaper like it's the last thing in the world she wants to be doing. At the end a the day, I'm the one always changing him and putting him to sleep.

When Mister Johnny gets home and he takes the baby from Miss Celia, it seems like he's the only one 'round here that ain't gone crazy. The way he holds Baby Johnny, it look so normal, how it's supposed to look. Miss Celia hold him far away from herself as she can, like he's got the chicken pox.

'Cause a the baby, Miss Celia been asking me to an extra hour every day I work. "You always gonna have a job here, Minny," they keep telling me, and for the most part I'm believing it. But if I rip Miss Celia's head off when she starts boo-hooing right along with Baby Johnny, that may not be true.

Two weeks since Baby been brought home, I finally start seeing some hope for his mama. Miss Celia's beginning to warm up. She's feeding him in his high chair that belonged to his daddy. She cuddles him, with the whole googly baby talk. She kisses his head so hard her bright red lipstick gets stuck on him, I have to wash it off. She's doing fine.

Then the book comes. Miss Celia push baby Johnny to me and rush on to get it outside. That fool woman hardly ever change her blue nightgown. Just 'cause she's a mother now don't man she has to stop taking care a herself. She only puts a little a the gooey makeup on, which is a help 'cause I'm sure Baby would choke on the stuff. I got six a my own kids, and I never stopped taking good care of how I looked. Being a white lady ain't no excuse.

...One day Miss Celia call me up on the telephone, saying Baby Johnny crying and she can't get him to stop, and neither could her husband. I just got home two hours ago, I'm busy making supper for my own kids. They has to up with they own.

"Miss Celia," I say, holding back a sigh, "you know I ain't able to do that."

"Oh, Minny!" she cries, "I don't know what to do with him. He won't eat or drink anything, he doesn't need changed. Me and Johnny both rocked him, but he ain't stopping." She sniffs now like she's trying not to sob. "My baby is sick, Minny!"

What you want me for, he your problem, your baby, I think. But then I remember when my first one, Sugar, cried and I got scared 'cause she didn't stop, and how bad I wanted some help. You going soft, is my first thought driving up to the Foote's castle in the country.

Mister Johnny answers the door before I even knock or ring. He looks tired, older, frazzled like any daddy is. His hair is still nice, though. "Thank God," he says. "Celia is so scared. We don't know what's wrong, he was fine when I left this morning." He scratches his head and makes way for me to come in.

I nod. I have a pretty good feeling a what's going on here.

Miss Celia's in the kitchen, holding a crying Baby Johnny close to her. When she sees me, her bottom lip begins trembling. The fool better not start with ME. I ain't in the mood for two wailing babies. "Minny," she says, perking up. The baby's face is red, he's screaming, clutching Miss Celia's blouse in one tiny pink fist, pulling it down like it weren't low enough already. "Minny," she says again.

I take Baby Johnny from her and cradle him like I done a thousand times. He don't quit quit crying none. I carefully put my finger in his mouth and run it across his bottom gums, then his top. The first time I did this to my baby, she snapped her jaws together, and law, for being so little it hurt. This one different, though. When I feel a bunny patch, instead of biting me, he just cries louder. Uh-huh, I'm right. I smile, 'cause Miss Celia's worried for nothing.

"What's wrong?" she asks. "Minny, what happened to him?" She's barely got any makeup on, yet she's still dressed up like she's going out. By now she'd usually be in her blue or yellow nightgown an Mister Johnny'd be looking after the baby, so this must a been happening for some time. "There ain't nothin' wrong with that baby," I say.

At this Miss Celia's face collapses with relief. Her eyes are all watery. She better not het mushy. I'm just doing my job.

Mister Johnny takes his son out a my arms and hugs him, patting his back. "How do you know?" he asks and it ain't in a snotty white folk way, neither. He's really wondering, and that how I know he gone be a good father, not just now, but when that boy grows up.

"His teeth is growin' in," I tell em. "For some it's worse than others, and for your baby, it looks like he ain't enjoyin' it."

"So this'll be good?" Miss Celia wonders. Her teary blue eyes have dries up, but I bet she's still behind sobbing at the drop of a hat.

"Mmm-hmm. He growin' up." I'm pretty sure Baby Johnny nine and a half months old. They had him about two months now, but by the way Moss Celia still gags when she changes him, you'd never guess it.

Mister Johnny seems fine with the news, rocking the baby, but his wife's shaking her head like she's trying to drop something out a her ear. She reaches across the kitchen table and grabs the How to Take Care of Your Babybook. She holds it out to me, pointing at the cover like a proud little kid showing off their report card. "But the book says-"

"Forget the book," I say too quickly. "There ain't no such thing as a baby bible. You know what that book's good for? Take it into the bathroom and save yourself some tissue."

Miss Celia's mouth is hanging open, but I go on, "All women have somethin' called the maternal instinct, alright? A book can't tell ya what to do. You've gotta learn it by yourself." Me and my big mouth. But when it comes to raising kids, I take business seriously. Miss Celia needs to know this ain't a game, Baby ain't a doll. He's as real as they come. She's gotta know there ain't a book in everything.

"Really?" she says quietly.

"Yes, ma'am. Don't worry none," I say over Baby Johnny's cries. "Just take his pacifier and fill it with water, and keep it in the freezer whenever he ain't usin' it. Or get him a teether, do the same. They like these big plastic rings. They right next to the diapers and baby powder. He should stop hurtin' pretty soon."

Mister Johnny touches Miss Celia's shoulder, still rubbing circles on Baby Johnny's back.

"He gone be fine," I say again, kinda mutter it to myself.

"Are you sure that's it, Minny?"

"I'm sure, Miss Celia," I tell her. "See? You can feel little bumps right in there. They gonna grow fast from now on."

"Minny, thank you!" Miss Celia's on her feet, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat, buggy eyes. "I was so afraid something else was wrong..." She pulls me into a hug and no matter how many times I tell the lady to not DO that, she done it anyway. Not that it all matters. She's stubborner than a mule, I swear to God Almighty.

Smiling, Mister Johnny says, "Minny, we wouldn't have live through this if it weren't for you."

"Just doin' my job," I say, and on my way back home I can't help but think what I said ain't as true as it use to be. Baby Johnny gone be special. I feel like he's more important than just a white lady's kid I gotta take care of. Then I quickly remind myself not to get carried away.

As I gather the dirty clothes in Miss Celia's room, I notice the sort a funny way she gets when she's with Baby Johnny. She ain't what anyone would call a gentle person, but when she's got him with her she holds him lime he's a feather. And she looks at him not like he's Baby Johnny, but Baby Jesus. Even when she comes close to his little white crib that belonged to his daddy in the second blue room painted before he was born, she stands up straighter. Suddenly her back goes ramrod straight like she's been electrocuted or something. Then she'll sit in the rocking chair and even her breathing changes, like each breath might hurt Baby Johnny. They careful, timed.

In a couple a days after what we all call The Teeth Incident, when I'm taking the trash outside I notice the How to Take Care of Your Baby book underneath a diaper with some green stuff smeared across the Care. I can't help but smile, a teal goofy one I'm sure makes me look like an idiot.

There's a big storm, thunder, lightning, the whole shebang. It's so bad Miss Celia's afraid all her plants gonna blow over. I'm more surprised Baby Johnny ain't having a fit. He's just laying limp in my arms, waving round those little hands.

Miss Celia gets so worked up he gives Baby Johnny a warm bottle a milk even though I just fed him one less than an hour ago. If you thought the Foote kitchen was a mess before, you should see the place after they baby.

He won't drink any and Miss Celia starts up again with the whole thinking she's wrong and can't get a thing right.

"Minny," she says, "do you think my boy is happy here? Do you think I'm doing a good job?"

Really, I look at her. Take a good long look. She looks tired, but a happy, satisfied tired. She ain't lazy. How can you be with a child? At least she's remembering to dress herself and not take an hour to put on the gloopy gloop on her face. The only thing she's religiously keeping up with is her Marilyn Monroe hair. She'd drop Baby Johnny then and there the moment it starts growing out. I say, "How come you askin' mesomethin' like that?"

"'Cause you would know," Miss Celia answers, nodding like she's convincing herself. "You've taken care of lots of babies, you would know if he's happy."

Thunder crashes outside. Miss Celia nearly jumps out a her own skin. That ain't the entire truth. It's been years I looked after a baby that wasn't my own. But it's not anything you could ever forget, like swimming or riding a bicycle. My last baby before I started working for Miss Hilly's mama was quite a time ago. Her name was Lorraine. Real sweet little girl, brown hair always in a ponytail. When she was just learning to crawl she went straight into the pantry and ate a jar a cherries till she threw up. She was real sweet, but real dumb.

I can't lie to Miss Celia, especially when she's shaking and staring at me like a Chihuahua. So I say, "Yes, ma'am, you doin' a very good job. Your boy is happier than any baby I ever saw."

Now she's staring at my face like it's the face a God. Why does my opinion, a colored woman's, matter so much to a white one's? "Do you really think so?" she asks, hopeful, like I'm giving her the very answers to life.

Hold it in, Minny. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

Miss Celia laughs. She laughs so loud I feel Baby Johnny squirm. "I can't believe I'm a mother!" she cries. "Can you?"

"No, I can't," I mutter and walk off to the kitchen. I'm gonna do the dishes again and hopefully Miss Celia will take the hint and gimme a break. Baby Johnny goes in his high chair and he bangs on the tray with his hands like it's a drum. Or somebody he don't like's head.

Of course, Miss Celia come bounding in after me. She lifts Baby Johnny with loud, sloppy baby talk, and gently swings him around like she's dancing with him. I'm a little scared she's gonna slip with those stockings on and bang up Baby's head. I've seen it happen, so I know. Not to mention Miss Celia's got the grace of an elephant balancing on a rubber ball going across a tightrope.

"Careful, Miss Celia," I tell her, scrubbing way at what's already clean as a whistle. "Don't want Johnny gettin' a concussion at such a young age."

"Oh!" She stops in the middle of a clumsy twirl, an I'm shocked Baby Johnny ain't crying yet. Law, I get dizzy just looking at his mama. I'm pretty sure he's less cranky about his teeth by now. I sure hope so, 'cause when he's in a bad mood, so is Miss Celia, which means Minny gone be in a very bad mood.

"Sorry," Miss Celia says. "I'm just so happy." The rain keeps pounding the roof, but there ain't no rain in the heart of Celia Rae Foote. I think back to when she first told me that, and nobody would have believed it. Now I see her with her baby boy and I know she is happy. She is happier than all a us.