Short stories with a comical twist on the daily obstacles, aka adventures, of parenthood

Author: Izzy Tornado Page 5 of 7

Stinky Feet and Milk Inspections – Part II

An ear-piercing voice wakes me up, crackling over the world – the voice echoed far and wide like a divine being finally coming to rescue me from this confusing planet. He calls himself “the captain.” He didn’t do much except muttering about the weather and ending his presence with “thank you for flying with us.” Flying? What’s that?

Am I still stuck in this dream?

Big compartments outline the ceiling, and an endless line of strangers walk past me. I’m lying on what looks like a very long bed with pillows and blankets on each side. As a 2-month-old, my limited mobility only allowed me to turn my head slightly. A sense of relief trickled through my body when I caught a glimpse of my orange lion and Mr. Sheep. Oh, how nice it is to see you guys finally! You would not believe what happened to me earlier!

The euphoria left as quickly as it came – Where’s Mommy!?

I wail in desperation. Before I could catch my breath for another cry, Mommy swoops me up in her arms. With her usual smile, she whispers, “good morning, Izzy.” Stretching my neck past her shoulders, I see an infinite row of heads bobbing up and down as if tempting me to play Whac-A-Mole.

The “captain” reappears out of nowhere, saying to buckle up for “take off.” Take off what? Shoes? Diapers?

Speaking of diapers, I have been clenching my butt cheeks due to the ongoing stress.

As I let go, a ripple escape, and Mommy giggles. She quickly sits down and gives me my ultimate calming mechanism – the pacifier. Squish squish squish. As I suck the plastic boob, the entire world starts vibrating. It feels like we are in a car – a huge car. We are moving, and the speed is pushing us back. Mommy holds onto me a little closer. I feel my body lift – hmm, I know the pacifier usually makes me feel relax, but not like this. I suck a little harder and faster with every passing second. All the while, Mommy is pushing at my ear lobes, murmuring, “keep sucking, or else your ears will hurt.” Let me tell you that is NOT comforting. Gravity finally pulled it together after a few minutes; we are back to normal – no more rumbles, bumps, soars, and heart palpitations.

Mommy collects a couple of items from a compartment nearby – baby wipes, diaper, a changing pad, and some cream.

At least some things don’t change as I graciously accept the pampering of a diaper change.

Then she ties a blanket over her shoulders, Ooo! I know what that means. I didn’t realize it, but I was hungry. I’m still waiting for an explanation of the series of chaotic events, but food first. However, after my meal, the drowsiness hit me again. Okay fine. Sleep first.

This dream has got to stop.

Every time I wake up, I am stuck in this small, confined space with strangers, and I wake up quite often – every 2 hours. The routine is always the same – diaper change, belly time, and finally, a meal that puts me back to sleep. It is reassuring that my lion and Mr. Sheep are my soldiers protecting me the entire time; I will have to reward their loyalty when we get home. A couple of times, I played with the inhabitants of this confinement. They would walk by offering to let Mommy use the restroom or eat her food. They must be bored, so I entertained them for a few minutes.

However, I was cautious.

I watch them like an eagle securing its prey, making sure they don’t get close to my bottle – especially after the previous incident. I hope they don’t replace Daddy indefinitely, as he usually helped Mommy out. Sometimes just the thought of him abandoning us made me cry uncontrollably; I must have done something terrible. I promise (or try to) not to toot in his face anymore! Please come back. At this time, the strangers will start panicking, looking for Mommy, dropping me off like a sack of potato.

After what seemed like an eternity, I learned that we were on a plane (then ferry, bus, and taxi) to China.

It took 30 hours. For me, that’s a massive chunk of my life.

My Grandma and my Daddy switched positions – now I see my Grandma in real life and my Daddy in pictures or videos. After another “eternity,” they switched again – now Daddy in real life (at least he didn’t abandon me, and I’ll try to keep my promise!). They have GOT to stop messing with me. Why can’t they just appear both in real life instead of making me go through 60 hours of intense travel? Sheesh, adults, do I need to solve everything for them?

Stinky Feet and Milk Inspections – Part I

The lights in the bedroom turns on, waking me up. Mommy picks me up from the crib. I rub my eyes with my stubby fingers. What time is it, and who in the right mind would wake up a 2-month-old!?

“Good morning Izzy, it’s time to go to the airport,” Mommy whispers in my ears.

She places me in the car seat sitting in the middle of the room; I struggle at first, demanding a definition of the word “airport.” Instead, she gives me a warm bottle of milk – I guess that is a fair trade. Shortly after, we step out of the house and walk towards the car; a cool breeze greets us in the dark. “There shouldn’t be much traffic at 4 AM,” said Daddy as he starts the car. I slowly drift to sleep from the vibrations of the car; I like car rides.

Some rough movements wake me up again. Mommy is strapping me tightly in the baby carrier, her head looming over mine as she kisses me. This time, we are in a massive, bright building. There are tons of people walking around; none came over to say hi, how rude.

She looks at Daddy with a pleading look, “I don’t think I can go to China by myself anymore. Let’s go home.”

Daddy gently said, “let’s see what happens when you make the connection. If you don’t want to do it anymore, come home.” He gives us each a kiss and a warm, long, bear hug. Then Mommy grabs the carry-on luggage and gets in line; she turns around for one last look. I, too, glimpse at Daddy as he waves from afar, farther away than ever before. Why are we separating? Mommy whispers, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay” – is she saying that to herself?

The rest is a blur – contents in suitcases flying everywhere and beeping sounds going off occasionally.

Worst of all, people randomly taking off their shoes in public, do the guys in uniforms like to sniff sweaty feet?

“That’s my bag,” exclaims Mommy as she walks past rows of people. A tall stranger is turning my bottle upside down. I let out a loud revolting cry only to be shushed by Mommy. Well, technically, it’s her breast milk – she has the final say. I whimper as he opens the bottle.

Hey! Get your dirty hands off my chow, don’t you dare drink my portion.

He looks up as if finally understanding me, gives me a huge smile, and said, “aww, you’re so cute.” He continues to examine the liquid gold, one of them in its frozen form, and puts them through a machine. Finally, he places the two bottles back in the backpack and said, “you’re good to go.” Mommy gathers our belongings while I recollect his every move – did he switch out the milk?

Mommy rushes to the business lounge, muttering how I must be hungry being up for so long.

She closes the door to a dark, private room with a big lounge chair for breastfeeding and a changing table—finally, some peace in this chaotic dream. As I guzzle down my meal, I drift off to sleep, thinking I’ll wake up soon in my crib with both parents smiling down at me.

Wishful thinking on my part as the dream continues.

Chocoholic Runs in the Family

I tiptoed to look for the box of chocolates on the second shelf of the ginormous wall-to-wall bookcase that Daddy built. It seems they had moved it again – just when I could finally reach! Argh. Perhaps pushing the chair next to the wine fridge will get me on the counter – that’s not hard for a toddler like me to climb up; I’ve done it before.

But if I get caught, Mommy will lecture, “you get desserts after dinner” – whoever coined that term must hate sweets.

At long last, I took the last bite of my meal and looked up with a grin. Mommy said, “you’ve been a good girl, do you want…”. She did her usual pause. My eyes glittered with anticipation. It is time. My head turned towards the magical cardboard box full of goodies on the shelf. Mommy walked over and took out two pieces of my favorite chocolate wrapped in gold (Ferrero Rocher), one for each of us.

Mmmm, just the thought of taking a bite of the heavenly concoction is making me drool – literally.

I ferociously sank my semi-new set of teeth into the crispy wafer enveloped by chocolate, penetrating the center where a hazelnut is swimming in a creamy chocolate lake.

“Be careful, don’t choke, eat slowly,” exclaimed Mommy. I glimpsed at her piece of chocolate still wrapped in gold foil in her hand. Is she going to eat that? I’ll happily take it! As if she heard my prayers, she started unwrapping it and gave it to me. Success! Today is another good day.

Beware of Pacifier Burglars

Having never been dependent on fake boobs as a newborn, I always pushed the pacifier out with my tongue – it was just not natural, you know? It doesn’t taste exceptionally good (nor bad), it doesn’t have milk – it doesn’t do anything! What’s the point? However, after a few weeks, I realized having something to suck on was not bad after all, and I became fond of it.

Sometimes, I even close my eyes, imagining guzzling down an unlimited stream of milk.

Fast forward two years later. The day started as usual – I showed the parents how to pull the pillows and covers off the bed when they woke up, but they are so stubborn! They kept picking them back up.

I jumped on the bed as usual, but this time, I tripped over a pillow and hit the footboard – headfirst.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I screamed in pain. Blood flooded my mouth while Daddy inspected my chin, lips, and mouth. He mumbled about pacifiers and a loose front tooth, and then Mommy scurried away.

Oh, the horrors I had to bear that day.

Every sip of water sent shockwaves up my head. Even eating my favorite bowl of soft mac and cheese was painful. As if that wasn’t bad enough, all the pacifiers disappeared; it was as if they grew legs and fled the crime scene. I couldn’t find them in the kitchen cabinets and dishwasher, not even the secret stash underneath the crib.

They didn’t even let me suck goodbye.

All I did was jump on the bed – why did they take off? Have I not been punished enough already?

These heartless parents – they didn’t even try to help me look for them during bedtime. After three hours of outcry, they finally turned on one of my favorite cartoons at 1 AM to distract me – it worked. I was halfway through the second episode when I fell asleep snuggling in between the parents.

It took four days to accept my fate that I will never get to see my beloved pacifiers again.

I hope that they are having a good time, wherever they have gone.

A few days later, I overheard Daddy telling his friends about “taking away the pacifier cold turkey.” Did a cold turkey steal my pacifiers? Talk about the worst day of my life.

Hot Potato had a Fever

It is 4 AM, and I stink. Mommy passed me to daddy as she ran away, coughing into her elbow. “Paci!” he screamed. Yes! I want that, maybe that’ll help with the burning sensation all over my body. Mommy ran back and tried to stuff the paci into his mouth. No! Wrong person! I wailed louder. As daddy put the paci in my mouth, the parents looked at each other and laughed deliriously from the lack of sleep, their voices echoed down the hallway and back.

“Hot potato coming through!” daddy said as he passed me back to mommy and ran away for his coughing break.

Guys! Stop fighting for a chance to hold me; now is not the time to demonstrate your love. My body feels like it is on fire, my head is aching – stop moving me around!

“Time for another dose,” says daddy as he came back with a syringe. The sticky cherry syrup drizzled down my chin. He then gave me a bottle of milk, the warm liquid smoothly flowed down my throat. Waking up every hour (instead of every 2 hours like usual) with a high fever is making me hungry.

After I finished my meal, the fluid uncontrollably started bubbling in my tummy, like a volcano about to erupt.

It burnt my esophagus on its way up, and I sputtered the mix of cherry-flavored milk acid over my shirt, floor, and the parents. Ugh. Not again! It had been hard for my 3-month old body to keep anything down these days. Whatever you do, mommy, don’t bathe me nor change my clothes – I am well aware that I stink.

At this point, just let me swim in sour milk curds; I am too tired.

As if she could read my mind, I felt a wet towel wiping my face, chin, ears, and body – the cooling sensation felt good on my burning skin. I caught a glimpse of mommy – her eyes barely opened, the deep dark circles and the wrinkles under her eyelids made her look older – what happened to her? I drift to sleep, thinking about mold growing on the sour milk by tomorrow morning.

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