At 8-months-old, I can finally mark my territory with my army of four teeth. Lesson learned: bite everything except for self. I bit my fingers, forgetting I just got the big front tooth, and those chompers hurt! Imagine what I can do when I have ALL my teeth?! Or the better question is, what can I NOT do?
I need to find more teeth. Pronto.
It is not like they are buried in the ground, and I just have to dig for them. The only way to get them is through the teeth acquiring ceremony. It is usually a pretty rough process. Every few weeks, they will appear out of nowhere after sacrificing my well-being, including loss of appetite and lack of sleep. A warm headache frequently occurs as well – the parents called it a “fever.” They’ll stick a machine in my ears every few hours, exclaiming a number. I’m assuming the higher the number, the more likely the tooth is arriving.
No pain, no gain – after 2-3 days of sacrifice, my gums will itch, and I’ll become a drooling zombie.
Usually, popping a chew toy in my mouth to gnaw at the sore spot will speed up the progress. Sometimes, I cry out in frustration; patience is not a virtue that comes pre-packaged for a baby. After what feels like an eternity, I can feel the head of the teeth peeping out of the gums’ its edges scraping on my delicate tongue. Finally, I’ll get my reward!
I can’t wait to expand my territory with my unlimited saliva supply and strong, sharp teeth.
So far, I have acquired a doll, broccoli stalks, and Mommy’s arms.
“Wahahaha,” I exclaimed as Daddy hit his head on the wall. He laid on the floor for a brief moment and looked at me with a big smile on his face. Then he got up and rammed his head against the wall again, this time screaming, “Boing!”
“Wahahaha,” I chuckled harder.
While trying to catch my breath, Mommy joined the circus. Daddy threw a big red yoga ball at her. Even though the ball missed her, she fell on the floor on all fours. Does Daddy know how to airbend? “Wahahahahha,” I laughed harder this time as she rolled around, my vision blurry as tears formed in my eyes.
Why does seeing other people get hurt make me laugh hysterically?
But the more important question is, why are the parents addicted to hurting themselves? This is insane! I wonder if there is a limit to what they would do…
There is something about warm fresh milk from the bosom that makes all the worries of a 3-month-old go away. Like, what am I supposed to do with all the colors when I was used to only seeing shades of black and white? Or the giant monster constantly circling above me called a “fan”? This is a scary world. Even when I screamed at the top of my lungs to put me back into the womb, no one listens. So my only relaxing mechanism is getting fed – every 2 hours. Shout out to “Breast is Best”.
Just the smell of my mother (or her breast milk) makes me drool – no wonder why they called it liquid gold.
But it is a lot of effort to extract my meal. Do you know how hard it is to learn to lick, latch, and suck a milk guzzler at just a few minutes old? I had to use my small little mouth to hang on to that stub.
Then extract milk midair in an awkward position for another 15-30 minutes.
Sometimes when I do latch properly, my little nostril will be clogged by the breast the size of my head. Luckily, a hand always magically appears to press against it so I can breathe easier. Finally, after a few weeks of struggling, I opted for the bottle. Mother expresses it, and the extra gets stored away to age like fine wine. Work smart, not hard – you know what I mean?
Of course, nothing is free in this world; we have an unspoken quid pro quo.
As long as Mother provides a warm meal, I will reward her with my most precious creation, usually once a day. She is always thrilled when I gift her a fresh nugget and kisses me after putting a checkmark on her list.
Is she counting how many nuggets I’m giving her to make sure it’s a fair exchange?
I never got a chance to ask as I get ready to clock out with my full belly. I curled my lips up in satisfaction, falling fast asleep to the thought of my next meal.
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?
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?
