05 Months Old – Izzy Tornado

I crawl towards the kitchen on all fours. As a 5-month-old, I am not strong enough to walk yet. “Wahh,” a whimper escapes my mouth. I’m hungry. Where’s Mommy? She just left me in the bedroom.

I turn the corner into the kitchen. Mommy is already holding a baby bottle in one hand against her chest and a formula scoop in the other. “I’ll be there soon!” she shouts as if I was far away.
Yay, it will be meal time soon! I wonder how much she will give me this time.
She dips the scoop in the purple container on the table and lifts it back up, full to the brim with formula.

Drool escapes my mouth as I look up from the floor at the kitchen entrance.

Mommy slowly moves the scoop higher, from waist height towards her chest where the bottle opening is. She raises the scoop higher, past the bottle. Why is she doing that? Her mouth opens wide. She plops the contents in her mouth!
She smacks her lips and starts humming.
“Wahh!” I exclaim. How could she!?
Mommy turns towards me, startle. She chuckles and said, “Thanks for sharing your formula, Izzy. Milk is almost ready.”
She proceeds to prepare my milk, dumping three scoops of powder in the baby bottle.
Crying uncontrollably, I cannot forgive her. She shoves the warm bottle of milk in my mouth. My milk is never safe. How do I stop people from stealing my milk!

Thanksgiving is good food with extra steps. I mean, why else would we travel 8 hours to Denver for a turkey!? Perhaps it tastes better up north in the bitter cold, where their thick coats of feathers keep them warm as they dance around in the snow.

But for me, the chilly wind feels like daggers piercing into my bald 5-month-old head.

After multiple attempts at consuming fistfuls of Mommy’s hair to stimulate hair growth, I finally gave up as the hair is pretty tough to swallow. I’ll just hibernate after the big meal.

Turkey, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, fresh rolls of bread, and dessert – these delicious creations crowded the serving station. We sat around the table respectfully giving thanks; I’m most thankful that they didn’t make me cook. I would’ve burnt them by accident. I eagerly waited for my plate as they passed the dishes around.

To my surprise, they only gave me a bowl of oatmeal with peas!

I did not travel so far just to have oatmeal! Give me a break–or break me a turkey leg! After much protest, my hunger overpowered my will. I gulped down the oatmeal while the rest of the family chow down their plateful of goodness.

Out of pity, Daddy snuck me a lick of the cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes.

Next time, I’ll have to do a better job of negotiating for the turkey before we travel to determine if it’s really worth it. Doesn’t it just taste like chicken?

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

Category: 05 Months Old

Stop Stealing My Milk

Migrating for a Turkey