Sad Baby Meets a Tooth

Dear Diary,

It seems that last week's petrifying pediatric punishment was just a warmup for the big show. As you know, my head is increasingly infested by odd creatures- the hair colony, the lobed rubbery growth to either side, and the nose thing (which is currently inhabited by a large slimy ogre that steals my oxygen).  Those pests are child's play compared to this new invader. Let me backtrack. I had been plagued by constant drooling since the visit to Doctor's compound. I thought the tongue thing was to blame and had made an effort to starve it- refusing all breasts and bottles until it would stop secreting fluid.  I gave in and fed the thing when I mistakenly thought it bit me.  It turns out that the tongue thing is controlled by my thoughts, and if I bite it- I feel the pain; a strange twist in the host relationship, but I digress. The authorities are referring to this new scourge as Teeth.  If you are lucky enough to have escaped such anguish, let me describe it.  I think that the seed of this monster has lied dormant in the soft tissue of my mouth, perhaps since before my unfortunate incarceration. Now that it has been awakened it has not so much revealed itself, so much as it has loudly and cruelly announced it's presence. The repugnant raider is seemingly drilling its way through my head with no remorse for the damage and pain caused.

The physical suffering pales though in comparison to the Authorities' relentless pursuit to compound my predicament with mental anguish. They have sworn to me that more Teeth will soon follow; That my mouth will eventually be filled with them. And worst of all, once the ghastly colony reaches terminal capacity, they will each achingly fall out and the dreadful process will begin anew. The Authorities have also threatened to brush the Teeth, as they do the hair colony.  I don't see how they will force the brush past my lips, but I shudder to consider what dreadful methods they may impose.

-Sad Baby

Sad Baby Immunized and Unhappy

Dear Diary,

Today was the worst day of my long cursed troubled life.  The villainous Authority called Daddy again delivered me to the agent called Doctor.  This time though Doctor did not work alone. Her heinous accomplices, Practitioner and Nurse, would join in what has proven to be a widespread effort to break my spirit.  It started just as previous visits, stripped naked to highlight my vulnerabilities, weighed and measured to reinforce my diminutive stature, and then great discussion of my habits and routines.  Doctor was particularly concerned that I be held in solitary at night, and that the forced feeding caused me to poop repeatedly. As Doctor finished what I believe was a body and cavity search, I thought this formalized tribulation was coming to a close- I could not have been more wrong.  The evil that followed was beyond any suffering I had endured at the hands of my captors. Even Daddy looked concerned for my well being.  Nurse and Practitioner returned to our chamber, they leaned in close, tickled me gently and fed me some sweet syrup. Was this a reward for my stoneface endurance of the day's abuses?  Had their consciences brought them back to atone for their wicked cold treatment of Sad Baby.  Not Hardly. As I lay there contemplating their change of heart, I was mercilessly stabbed in both legs. It was all a ruse, they had tricked me into letting my guard down, and now, my only weapons of defense were paralyzed in agony.  I cried out to the point of losing my breath, tears streaming down my face. I can never trust again. The authority called Daddy showed his weakness and immediately prepared a bottle to ease my suffering.  As my cries resolved to whimpers I found myself comforted to be placed back in the transport restraints.  At least I would not die in this  cold bright cell.  I may even see my bouncer chair before I expire.  My memory ends there.

I awoke hours later- graciously in my bouncer chair-- but I was reliving the pain. Whatever they had stabbed me with was certainly tainted with poison. There I sat, in the only place I had ever been able to relax, resigned to the fact that it would be my ultimate destination. I was in and out of consciousness for several hours before the Authority call Mommy returned from a very long absence. She too was appalled at the cruelty of the Pediatric Gang.  While she did not directly admonish Daddy for his part in the horrid event, she was quick to ease my suffering.  At first I was frightened of the conversation I overheard. There was mumbling and I overheard ".25ml"- whatever apothecary they were preparing was powerful stuff to be effective at such small doses- but it was not enough to finish me.  I continue to fight the pain, and sleep, but am                         losing                    at                least    (yawn)    one                             battle.


-Sleepy Sad Baby

My Sad Butt

Dear Diary,

Do you remember the thing that used to be on my belly?  The authorities had made such a fuss over it.  I'm glad it's gone.  It hurt sometimes. It started to stink. I concentrated very hard and it just fell off. Well, now my butt hurts sometimes, and stinks sometimes, and I sure hope it falls off soon. I will keep concentrating.

-Sad Baby

Sad Baby on Parasites (or vice versa)

Dear Diary,

I have passed the last of the tainted milk and my thoughts now return to the vile parasites taking over my body.  There is a repugnant colony of stringy organisms growing on my head. They continue to multiply at an  astounding rate. The authorities refer to these interloping monsters as "hair".  From observations of the authority called Daddy- they feed on your brain, and grow more dense as they voraciously consume your compassion. If my demeanor takes a sour turn, you will know that the hair has overcome me.

There is another frightful creature that has taken up residence in my mouth.  Again the authorities have tried to explain it away, saying it is my tongue. Bullocks! It is in no way mine. It has a mind of it's own. The despicable critter kept me up all night. It constantly thrashes in and out of my pursed lips. There is no containing the horrid thing. It yearns to sample anything within its reach and may be controlling my mind.  It ravenously licked my hand for 30 minutes solid, then licked the cuff of my sleeping uniform, and did not rest until it had gorged on the blanket for no less than 20 agonizing minutes.

Between hair and tongues I'm up to my elbows in problems- and the authorities are no help.

This week's priorities- Continue tugging at my "hair"- even if it hurts and makes me cry.
Exterminate the tongue, maybe trick  it into licking something more sinister than itself.

-Sad Baby

Sad Baby Poisoned

Dear Diary,

Not satisfied with the results of their external tortures, the authorities have resorted to torturing me from the inside out. I have been poisoned.  The authority called Mom seems to be leading the charge. Early last week, she maliciously ate cheese and sour cream.  Had I known, I would have demanded formula.  Dairy stops me up like a size 3 pacifier in a newborn's mouth. Just when I thought she was honestly remorseful ( and that it wasn't another diabolical mind-game)- she reversed her tactics.  She claims that the Authority called Daddy is the responsible party since he planned the dinner. Whichever of those devils is responsible- they must have known how effectively fish oil would transfer to my milk.  My only solace in this most recent atrocity is in knowing that I turned the tables on them- left them speechless and scrambling.  The authorities may confuse me, and confound my body to it's core, but I will not quietly suffer the indignity of sitting in my overly dirty diaper.  I will kick, scream and fling poo.  The authorities got more than they bargained for as I not only soiled the diaper, but also my onesie, my blanket, the car seat, the changing mat, mom's shirt, dad's seat, and, regrettably, my left sock (I had already disposed of the right sock).  If they thought the humiliation of riding home naked would cure my disquiet then they were wrong- It only steels my commitment to resist.

This week's Priorities:
Maintain strength- keep fighting.

Develop a strategy to eliminate the parasites (more on that in my next entry)



One last note.  I very much enjoyed answering JS's questions about bottle feeding, however, our sad lawyers think we should remind you that Sad Baby is merely 6 weeks old and is not in any way qualified, verified, or otherwise empirically knowledgeable of any subject beyond human cruelty.  Answers to your questions, and advice from sad baby is strictly for entertainment purposes and by submitting your question you thereby exempt Sad Baby from blame, indemnification, or scrutiny resulting from responses to your inquiry.  Hasn't she been through enough?

Sad Baby Feature: Sad Baby takes your Questions

Today's question is from JS in Kentucky,

Dear Sad Baby,
My 10 mos old son refuses to take a bottle.  Can you give us any insight or help?
JS

Sad Baby Says:

Thanks so much for your letter JS.  It is quite lonely being the only human prisoner here, so I welcome all correspondence.

The best reason to refuse a bottle is willful disobedience.  I fully condone your son's show of solidarity with my plight and I hope he can stay strong.That being said, I myself drink from a bottle, but I do have certain prerequisites which must be met to ensure that I will comply with forced feeding.  I will not take a bottle from my mom- that's ridiculous.She is always awake and full of perfectly good milk. Only the authority called daddy gets away with feeding me a bottle. Second, it must be dark.  It is a personal defeat to be forced to drink from an inanimate vessel, and I wouldn't want anyone to see me in the act.Thirdly, I don't care how cold it is, but it cannot be too warm.  The interaction is already unauthentic, laboring to get the temperature to reflect mothers milk just reinforces the synthetic pretense.

I hope that helps.

Yours in constant sorrow
-Sad Baby

Return of Sad Baby Diary

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I have not been able to make an entry these past few weeks but waterboarding takes a lot out of a girl. The authorities have made good on their promise to nearly drown me every two days.  The torment begins at my toes as they methodically work their way up.  First stripping me naked, spraying me down, then dripping sponges on me, and finally holding my head under the relentless stream until I'm sure I can no longer breathe. Once the water torture is complete, I am vigorously abraded by some tool called the towel- and usually my head is covered with a hood so as to limit my vision.

What other horrors have occurred since I last journaled?

Earlier this month, the compound was under attack for what seemed like days.  I  briefly considered that forces may be rallying to my rescue, but on July 4th the intermittent explosions and flashes built up into a terrible crescendo and suddenly stopped.  If it was a recovery mission, than I hope my would-be rescuers died quickly, as it would certainly be a more a agreeable end than detention in this house of horrors.

The batteries are dying in my bouncer.  The Authorities are well aware of their imminent failure, but refuse to change them.  The bouncer has been my one true joy since arriving here, but soon I may have to go without it's soothing vibration and pleasant 8 bit song stylings. I think the authorities are taking great pleasure in watching my elation fade to apprehension- Will today be the day that my bouncer gives out?

The authority called Daddy has been leading fewer of the interrogation sessions, as he has devoted more of his time to something called work, I don't know what it is, but I am grateful for the respite from his abuse. He is, though, force feeding me on a more regular basis and has developed an elaborate method of torture called burping.

My retaliation seems more futile each day, but I am continuing to fight when I am able.  My strength is improving, and with enough kicks and contortions, I am able to stave off diaper changes for about 60 seconds; I have nearly escaped the changing table with a quick lateral roll.

I continue to urinate as soon as the diaper has been removed.

I have developed my own protocol for creating psychological confusion in the Authorities.  WHile their actions prove them to be cold hearted and pure evil, they constantly try to connect with me personally. Now when they engage me, I smile, open my eyes wide- And fart.

Deprivation

Dear Diary,

I have not had the energy to journal this week. The authorities have begun denying me food. Instead, they have cruelly substituted my feedings with a rubbery false nipple. I believe they realize that there is no milk in this despicable trinket. At least in this case, I believe their devilish malice outweighs their obvious ignorance. Beyond starvation, they have also introduced me to a new unnerving horror. I was forcibly moved to a lurid temporary detention center where the agent called Grandma keeps a fearsome beast called Dog. He too, appears to be a prisoner as I saw shackles hanging from a wall near a cage. Grandma must be the leader of this sinister syndicate- my own captors are not yet so brazen as to openly display their restraints. I have since been returned to the familiar environs of my captors, but now shudder to ask myself: If I do not starve, If I am not fed to the grisly dog, If I am not callously sold by weight- then what harrowing fate awaits me?

Further tortures

Dear Diary,

I am now convinced of my conscription in a terrible science experiment. It seems that I am constantly being monitored. I have been buoyed between direct supervision and solitary confinement, only to discover that my every movement and utterance is being transmitted back to the authorities. I am never alone, even this diary may be compromised- shared with the other evil doers in the Authorities' conspiracy.

I cannot endure much more. In what I can only assume is some attempt to test my endurance of torture, the authorities have begun to subject me to sonic agony. I thought this sort of treatment was reserved for ousting dictators, or flushing traitors from foreign embassies! Alas, the authority called Daddy has relentlessly bombarded me with loud guitar based music. His rendition of Radio Free Europe has repeatedly pushed me to tears. I fear that I am losing my grip. I am, though, growing and sharpening my fingernails. If this battle becomes physical, I will be ready for the fight.

My short-lived revenge played out as planned. He was forced to change my diaper 3 times in 3 minutes, and to dig through the newly cleaned linens for a new blanket. He threatened me with formula, but I believe it to be a bluff. We can only hope that tomorrow is better, and that at worst, he tunes his A string.

One week update

Dear Diary,

I never expected that my dismal luck could last so long. I have made some progress in breaking down the Authority called Mommy. I thought for certain she would release me. 3 diapers, a comforter, one sock and sleep sack-- all poo-ey or peed upon (in under 15 minutes), but instead of capitulation, she provided another feeding. I will resign to spitting up after each feeding.

The Authority called Daddy is still beyond my control. In a similar protest, I wet a diaper, poo-ed during the change, and then peed on my my onesie and changing table as he smirked with pride for catching the poo. He still refuses to feed me from his breast. He is so smug in his cruelty.Today, in particular, he has boasted to many in his network of his devious elation at my internment. I WILL pee on his obnoxious hawaiian shirt.

Today marks one week since my unthinkable incarceration. I am less worried of being sold, as I have seen more disheartening evidence that I have fallen into some sort of twisted genetic experiment. Perhaps a cloning program. I have met 3 new operatives, all called Auntie. Each appears to come from similar genetic stock as the Authorities- though not without obvious defects. Truly, the dark network of the Authorities is extensive and grimly worrisome.

Baby goes to the Vet

Dear Diary,
Day 3. The horror continues. The authorities again resorted to full body restraint. The cat had warned me that my behavior may result in a trip to one called the vet. It seems though, that my fate is far worse than anything the cat described. A new operative called Doctor has inventoried me, measuring me for length, temperature, and weight. I peed twice on the exam table, but this new adversary continued with clinical persistence. If I am not the subject of some diabolical science experiment, then I fear I am to be sold by the pound.

In my weakened state, I was again restrained for transport. Upon returning to my holding cell, the Authorities chose to make me beg for release- leaving the straps firmly in place until I regained consciousness. While I disagree with the treatment, I respect that their tactics are proving more evil by the day.

I will remain steadfast in my attempts to undermine the authorities. Today's abuses are quite certainly responses to my resistance. I will continue to move my bowels when the Authorities have removed the diaper. I will continue to sleep during daylight and demand food in the quiet of the night. The cats have used this to great effect, and it may be the secret to overcoming these heartless captors.

Hungr Strike

Dear Diary,
The cat has proven to be a completely unreliable ally in escape. He was successful in tricking the authorities into opening the door, but seemingly forgot our plan. Rather than rushing and causing a commotion, he calmly stuck his head out the door, retracted, turned away, then back to the door, then turned away but left just his tail outside. If he cannot overcome his own madness then I fear the marty cat will be stuck here long after I escape.

I have been forced to change my tactics. My hunger strike has ended. My current plan is to deprive the authorities of sleep in hopes that their weakness will allow me to capitalize on their inferior intellect. The operation had proven successful until they called in an interrogation specialist called Grandma. Her questioning and hand to hand skills left me exhausted. I awoke hours later to find the authorities had eaten and napped. While this is a setback, I'm certain I can regain the upper hand. I will need my diaper changed soon, but will wait to hear the sounds of their slumber before I demand a new uniform. I will also pee on their hands once the current diaper is removed.

First Entry

Dear Diary,

It seems my torment has only begun. I thought the authorities were helping me to escape the mad prison where I awoke just days ago. Alas, they have strapped me into some sort of restraint and driven me to a remote outpost that I can only imagine is some sort of work camp. The other prisoners seem lifeless, a few bears, a frog, a pig, a tiger- none of them have moved. There is one grey furry cat with some remaining vigor. While we communicate in similar high pitch sounds, we have yet to establish a common language, but I hope we will soon understand each other well enough to formulate our escape.