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