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?
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.
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.
