The kit nearly jumped. One of the creche’s parents had appeared beside her, just out of sight. ‘Very,’ Sidra said. ‘Your whole display is beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ the Aeluon said. He looked at his tent approvingly. ‘We’ve been working for weeks on this. The kids helped, of course.’
‘Would you mind if I ask you some questions about . . . about all of this?’
‘Not at all. Is this your first Shimmerquick?’
‘Yes. Is it that obvious?’
The Aeluon laughed. ‘You have the look of someone who’s seeing things for the first time. Don’t be embarrassed, I’m here to educate as much as celebrate. That’s what being a parent’s all about.’
Sidra liked this man. ‘Have you always been a parent? Professionally speaking, I mean.’
‘Oh, yes. It takes a lot of school, so if you don’t get started early, it can be hard to catch up.’
‘What kind of schooling?’
‘There are two different layers to it,’ the Aeluon said. His tone was authoritative, his words ready. This was clearly his field. ‘At the core, you’ve got to get university certification for parenting, just as you do for, say, being a doctor or an engineer. No offence to you or your species, but going into the business of creating life without any sort of formal prep is . . .’ He laughed. ‘It’s baffling. But then, I’m biased.’
The kit smiled. ‘I understand.’
‘To get your certification,’ he continued, clearly on a roll, ‘you have to take courses in child development, basic medical care, and interpersonal communication. That’s the first layer. On top of that, if you want any sort of viability in this field, you have to add specialisation courses – both for the benefit of the kids and the mothers. Me, for example, I’m skilled in massage, basic tutoring, and emotional counselling. Loh over there, he’s great at arts and crafts, and he can cook like a dream. Sei is our gardener, and does all our home repair and decorating, too. A good creche needs a blend of skills in order to be successful, especially where the mothers are concerned. Fertility leave is a big deal, and it’s a lot of fun, but it’s a stressful thing for any woman, at first. It’s two unplanned months away from her normal life. She’s got to drop any projects she’s got going on at work. She’s got to cancel whatever other plans she’s made. If she’s a spacer, she’s got to find the nearest place with an Aeluon community before she misses her shot. And unless her romantic partner can take that time off, too, she’s got to be separated from her most important person for a bit. She’s got to go live with strangers – and have sex with them – and all the while, there’s the worry that she might go through all that trouble and still not have a fertilised egg at the end of it. And then there’s the business of carrying said egg and giving birth a month later, which – while not nearly the bother it is for your species – would be nerve-wracking for anyone. So, we do our best to make the whole experience as rewarding as possible. It’s a break. A vacation. We do everything we can to make the women that come to us as comfortable and happy as possible. Our beds are wonderful, our rooms are clean. Our food is outstanding. We’ve got a beautiful garden and huge salt-water baths. We’re experienced lovers, and we put a lot of effort into making sure that coupling multiple times a day is something to look forward to. We give our mothers space when they need it, and company when they crave it. We provide quality medical care when it’s time to give birth. And beyond that, we assure them that their child is going to be well looked after. They’re welcome to spend time with the other children there – join them for playtime or studying, if they want to. Not all women do. Some aren’t worried about that aspect of it, or they just don’t like kids much. Others need a lot of reassurance that the little person they’re leaving behind is going to be okay.’
‘Do mothers come back to visit?’