Baby Strikes Out
“No! No! No! Noooooo!” I stamped my feet and chewed furiously around the invasive pacifier bulb filling my mouth. My cheeks burned, fully aware of the spectacle I was making as my wife and her friends looked on in surprised amusement, and perhaps a bit of second-hand embarrassment. But I didn’t care. This had gone far enough! She could take away my video games, dress me in this ridiculous outfit, drag me through humiliation after degrading humiliation, but a bed time?? This was the last straw! Over the last year Mommy (wait, no I mean Sara!) had managed to strip every past identifier of my old life and the man I used to be, and with each privilege and cherished article gone I found myself becoming the person… the baby she wanted me to be. But dammit I was still a fan! And it’s the World Series! I’ve been waiting for this moment all year, my whole life even! She can’t make me go to bed now. “You said… You said I could stay up! And watch with your friends! I want to watch!” I cried. I had even agreed to join them in the living room wearing the ridiculous new onesie she got me, the words “Mommy’s Lil Slugger” emblazoned over a cartoon ball and bat across my chest, all with the expectation that I could watch my team take the field on the greatest stage. Just to feel normal again, for even one night. I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks now. Sliding under the plastic guard of the pacifier, already slick with my spit, collecting with the drool running down my chin. The leg gatherings of my embarrassingly thick diaper rustled with each frustrated stomp. It was a full on tantrum now. She did it, she finally broke me. Months of restraints, supplements, spankings, all to force me into submission. But this finally broke me. “I want! I want! I want!” I wailed, shook my mittened fists, and stomped my feet, the soft booties making only the dullest of thuds on the carpet. What was I doing?? I’ve never thrown a fit like this! Not since I was an actual baby. Not with Mommy watching. Not with her friends watching!! But I couldn’t help it, I was fully in it now, singularly focused on this final act of resistance. And that’s when I felt it. The tummy gurgle. Suddenly ripped from my infantile tunnel vision, I felt myself brought soberingly back to a few short hours ago, before the guests arrived, confined tightly in the kitchen highchair, struggling in vain against the pastel leather straps as Mommy shoveled spoonful after spoonful of orange mush past my quivering lips. I suddenly remembered watching helplessly as the occasional dollop of slop splattered pathetically against the white plastic tray, and thinking that something was off. I wasn’t able to focus on it then, having to quickly steel myself for the next disgusting mouthful, much of which destined to end up smeared across my face anyway, but I was right. It wasn’t a trick of the eye, I had seen the unmistakable white powder carelessly mixed in with baby food. Laxatives! But why? Why Mommy? I was good today! I was good! *Gurgle* Another violent churn of my bowels brought me back to the moment. Frantically I looked around the room. To Lauren and Michael watching fixated from the couch. Alyssa sitting on Brad’s lap on the armchair. All looking on in a mixture of amazement and horror as the diapered boy before them doubled over, now clutching his stomach. I took one last look at Mommy and caught the slightest smirk firming on her gorgeous lips. And then it happened. Rivers of thick, gooey mush forced their way out of my backside, filling every crevice of space in my previously pristine white diaper. I bit down on my paci, grunted, and cried softly to myself as the back of my already thick diapers crinkled loudly, bulging further outwards. The adorable felt catcher’s mitt sewn onto the butt expanded to hold the softball sized lump growing in the seat of my pants. I moaned pathetically as my bladder surrendered as well, urine flowing endlessly through the opening of my baby blue cage, pooling and mixing with the shameful mess below. Finally finished with the humiliating ordeal and drained from my screaming fit, I felt my bowed legs suddenly give out beneath me and before I could stop myself, I was falling. Though only a couple feet, it felt an eternity before SPLAT, my bottom collided with the carpeted floor, smearing my mess deeper into the confines of my plastic prison. I could feel it threatening to creep up my back past the waistband, straining against the leg guards, and coating my naughty bits. Parts that even I didn’t get to touch. And so I sobbed. I sobbed for myself, the poor, miserable position I found myself in, and the person, the baby, I had become. But honestly? I mostly sobbed as a scared little boy, who needed his Mommy and who needed a change. I felt her delicate hands cup my chin as she raised my puffy red face to meet her maternal gaze. “All I said was to go brush your lil teefies and get ready for bed. I didn’t say that it was your bed time…” My cheeks burned even redder than before, I tried to look away but she had my chin firmly now. I chewed my pacifier nervously. “But after this? You clearly aren’t old enough to stay up with us big kids. Maybe it is somebody’s bed time. Sorry everyone, someone gets a bit cranky this late at night. Let me go tuck this lil stinker in and I’ll be back to watch the game in a few minutes. There’s beers in the fridge!” She turned back to me. “Come, baby.” She began to walk past the foyer and up the landing to ascend the stairs, pausing only to look back and give me that look that said “you had better come right now if you know what’s good for you.” Feeling more humiliated than ever before but terrified of what Mommy might do if I didn’t comply, I rolled over, feeling the soppy squish of my loaded diaper as I came to a kneel, and began the long crawl up the stairs, thankful the buttons holding my onesie, strained though they were, hadn’t popped. As I climbed, I tried to ignore the hushed whispers and excited gasps from below, opting to stare intently at each wooden step and hope I could turn invisible. Still, I couldn’t help but look up to glance at Mommy’s pert figure. Her luscious curves moving with each swaying step. Her skirt flared and I caught the slightest glimpse of her delicate lace panties and I felt my member begin to harden in my baby print prison before the plastic of the cage uncomfortably reminded me of my unenviable situation. As if the squelching stew in the seat of my pants couldn’t do that enough. Finally, we found ourselves at the door to my dreaded nursery. Despite the pastel walls, colorful block lettered mat, and general softness radiating from every conceivable angle, I couldn’t help but shudder to think of every painful memory to take place here over the last year, each one robbing me just a bit more of my old self. I couldn’t reminisce for long, though, as I heard mommy’s syrupy sweet words of encouragement. “Come on baby!” I began to crawl towards the changing table, towering above me in the opposite corner of the room, its shelves stacked high with row upon row of fluffy, white, cartoon imprinted diapers, bottles of baby powder, tubs of wipes, and many more exotic implements meant to regress and humiliate me ever further. “Ah, ah, ah! This time Mommy did say bed time. And Mommy meant it.“ Stunned, I looked back at her to see if she might be kidding. Or if my pleading gaze might change her mind. But I saw no such remorse in her eyes, or in the mischievous grin curling up her lips. “Crib. Now.” Defeated, I crawled over to the adorable, oversized baby bed that had become my nightly prison, slumped over the lowered side and lifted one leg after the other as I clambered gingerly inside, my full diaper squishing and churning with each awkward movement. Mommy stepped over, raised the bars and I heard the telltale click locking them in place. I sighed deeply, resigning myself to an early night and what was sure to be an uncomfortable morning highlighted by a diaper rash I knew I wouldn’t soon forget. Mommy leaned over the railing, handed me a bottle of warm milk and kissed me on the forehead, her butter-soft breasts swaying gently underneath her loosely buttoned baseball jersey. “Night night sweetie, I’ll check on you in the morning. Behave yourself!” She turned and strutted out of the room, turning out the light as she went, leaving me in almost total darkness, the shapes of the changing table, my play pen, toy box and the dreaded punishment corner barely illuminated by the soft orange glow of my Winnie The Pooh night light. The smell from my mess permeated the nursery and mixed with the ever-present aroma of powder, ointment and stale urine. I wish I could say it bothered me, but truthfully I had grown used to it. Delicately, I rolled over onto my back, trying to avoid disturbing the toxic sludge below, the constant reminder of my infantile state, and spat out my pacifier. Reluctantly, I began to suck on my baba as I strained to listen to the sounds of the game below, wishing desperately that someone would suggest turning up the volume, as the sounds of the night air outside began to swell with the chorus of summertime, punctuated only by the occasional cheer from the living room, or from the neighbors next door. “Must be a good game,” I thought to myself as my eyelids began to droop. My head hit the pillow, and soon I was born swiftly off to dreams of hitting a home run and rounding the plates, blissfully unaware of whatever new adventures, and newer lows, the morning would surely bring.
Wow...
