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.

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.

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.

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.