I’m not going to lie, even though I hate the morning. I’m really a breakfast sort of guy. On the way downstairs, I notice the scent of fresh blueberries in the air. It smells heavenly, and whatever we are having in this dream, I want some of it.
Still, I’m a little miffed that she feels the need to carry me all the way downstairs, but I can imagine it’s faster than I could walk down myself, as small as I am now. The staircase is one of those winding ones, and I wonder if I’m in a mansion. I’ve only ever seen something this grand in movies and pictures in magazines, never in real life, so this dream might actually be really cool, aside from the baby thing.
As we got down the last step, I heard a guy call out to her, “Alysa? I’m in the kitchen,” and I recognized this voice for sure. My heart is racing; I can feel the beating in my chest. I feel like I’m trembling in anticipation.
Before the woman, Alysa, even says his name, I already know the man is Isaiah, my therapist. He looks so real, just like his dark skinned, Indo-Caribbean self. He’s a bit short for a guy, with a medium build, like a carbon copy of the guy. Wow.
“Thanks honey,” she says, “I brought Jason. He’s a little grumpy this morning.”
They chat for a second while Alysa is putting me in the baby chair for breakfast, and my eyes are glued to Isaiah. I can’t believe he’s in this dream, and I’m having one of playing house with him and his wife. Looking closely, I think I’m actually dreaming him – well them – up maybe a tad younger. This dream clone talks like him with the same inflections and mannerisms and everything.
Oh my god, I remember her too. I have met Alysa before at Isaiah’s office when I go to therapy, sometimes she passes me in the waiting room, and every now and then I say hi back. This dream is insane. I actually feel guilty for a minute. It’s gotta be some kinda psychological thing that I’m having a fantasy of being my therapist’s kid or something. I don’t even need to pay anyone to tell me I’m fucked in the head. It’s obvious to me, and I don’t have a degree.
Isaiah catches me staring at him dumbfounded, and he ducks to make eye contact with me and smiles, “Are you ready to have some num-nums in your tum-tum?” he walks over to my and pats my head.
I glare at him, but I don’t say no. I actually am hungry, and I really want whatever they are having that smells so good. I just wish they would stop talking to me like that. I just haven’t really figured out how my new vocabulary works to tell that to quit it.
Isaiah doesn’t disappoint, and he delivers my breakfast to me. When he places the plate on my table, I lick my lips, too ready to dig in. It’s gourmet food: homemade pancakes, eggs and chopped up fruit. I reach my hands for the food, and Isaiah immediately pulls the plate out of my reach.
The hurt must be visible on my face because Isaiah immediately says, “Don’t worry baby boy, you’re gonna get your num nums just now.”
I watch sadly and silently as he cuts a piece of the pancake with his fork and knife and holds before holding it up to my mouth. For a moment, I decide if it’s worth my dignity to eat like this. I’m already sitting in a baby chair in a stupid diaper being subjected to incessant baby talk. Am I really willing to debase myself further?
Fuck it. Yes, I am. That food smells absolutely amazing. I lean forward and take the bite of food from the fork, savoring the textures and tastes as they flood my senses. It’s amazing. I take bite after bite, and by the time we’re done, my eyes are closed, and I feel so happy and content.
God, this dream is so weird but oh so good. Before Isaiah sits to eat his own food, he puts one of those little kid bottles on my table, I guess for me to drink while they chat. Between sips, I listen to their conversation.
“It looks like Jason really enjoyed his breakfast,” Alysa says and takes a sip of her coffee. “I was planning on taking him to Dr. Alvarez for his boosters. Do you want to come with?”
A doctor? This dream is really taking this pretty far, but I’m not going to sweat it. I’m not actually going to the doctor. I wonder if this is just one of those lucid dreams people talk about where they are having really vivid dreams, but they know that they are dreaming the whole time. Yeah, that’s what this is like.
“I can’t,” Isaiah says, and I can see how apologetic he looks, “I have a meeting with the board that I can’t miss,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Alysa smiles, stands up and gives Isaiah a quick peck on the cheek while she gathers the dishes, “It should be really routine, and I’ll get Jason a little treat afterwards.”
I guess while she’s washing the dishes, Isaiah’s job is to deal with me. So, he unbuckles me from the kiddie seat and places me on the ground. I’m honestly a little surprised since it’s my first time getting to walk on my own two feet. I feel a little unsteady, but it’s doable if I concentrate on it.
Left. Right. Left. I chant to myself for a little bit, and I’m enjoying pretending I’m a soldier marching to war. I can hear the beat of the drums and the sound of the trumpets. Before I know it, I’m humming bits and pieces of the marching songs I know.
“I guess someone wants to play pretend this morning,” I hear Isaiah say, and I’m taken out of my stupor to focus back on him. Gnawing at me in the back of my mind, I need to know what the fuck that was. Did I really start acting like a kid But first, I need to know if Isaiah knows that I’m not a little kid, especially not his kid.
“I’m not a baby,” I try to say, but it just comes out as “I no gebby.”
“No, you aren’t,” Isaiah emphasizes, fixing my shirt. I know that he has no idea what I was trying to say, and he’s just placating me like everyone does when they talk to a little kid.
I growl in frustration. Fine, I’ll make this as simple as I can for him. I point at myself, and say, “I,” and then I say, “wike,” and I point at him and say, “Youh”
Isaiah claps, smiling wide. “Aw my little boy is learning sentences,” he praises and gives me a hug. “I like you too, baby boy”
I sigh. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I really don’t know want to say to these people to get them to understand that I’m a baby. This dream has been going on for so long, so I guess the point of it is to figure out how to tell them I’m a grown up and then it will be over.
Isaiah sits me down to watch some TV. He turns on some baby show and leaves the remote in the middle of the coffee table. He goes back to the kitchen, I guess to help Alysa finish the cleanup from breakfast. I sit cross-legged on the floor watching the show. One minute into it, I’m bored to death. It’s one of those tv shows where they are teaching letters and numbers.
I stand up, careful not to lose my balance and reach over the table to reach the remote. It’s hard since it’s in the middle, and I have to stand up on my tip-toes to reach it. I grab it and I start channel flipping until I get to something fun. I got to the sports channel, and there’s MMA fighting on.
It’s a good match. The guy who’s winning really seems to have a lot of energy, even though it looks like it’s the latter half of the fight. I feel bad for that other guy; he’s really taking a beating. I’m surprised he’s managing to stay in the fight. The guy in red finally gets the other in a chokehold, and just when the count starts, I hear Alysa shout, “Isaiah! Did you put Jason to watch MMA fighting?” she takes the remote out of my hand and immediately shuts the TV off.
Isaiah comes back to the living room, “Of course not,” he looks over to me and back to Alysa, “He must have changed the channel on his own.”
“We talked about the screen time thing, Isaiah,” Alysa says, taking me by the hand and leading me towards the back door, “He needs free play to facilitate age-appropriate development.”
“Yes honey, you’re right,” Isaiah says, following behind us. Isaiah gives a nervous chuckle. “I forgot, but I promise I’ll try to be more proactive about it,” he skips ahead of us and slides open the back door.
This is one of those things that’s the weirdest part of everyone treating me like a baby. I don’t really get much of a say in anything. First, they take away my TV at the best part, and now I’m being taken outside when I didn’t even sign up for this.
Alysa leads me over to a small sandbox in the yard, lifts me in and sits me next to a bucket. She hands me a shovel and says, “Now, you play in here,” she kisses me on the forehead and turns to walk inside.
I can hear Alysa and Isaiah talking some more, but I can really make out what they are chatting about. The walls of the sandbox are high enough that I can’t climb out easily. Great. Now, I’m stuck outside until they decide to come get me.
At first, I lie down on the sand and look up at the sky. It’s a warm day, but there’s a little wind so it’s a bearable heat. I wonder if we’re actually still in Florida in this dream. I lose myself for a little while just relaxing and looking at the blue sky with whitish streaks. When I sit up again, I can still see Alysa in the house, and it looks like she’s cleaning up. I don’t see Isaiah, so they must have finished their talk.
I crawl over to where the bucket is, and while I was shoveling some sand out of sheer boredom, an idea hits me. Why don’t I just draw in the sand to tell them that I’m not a baby. I think I can still spell just fine! I carefully crawl over to one side of the sandbox, and I start etching into the sand, “Help, I’m an adult.”
It takes a lot of work because my motor skills aren’t the best as a baby. I’ve got to steady myself with both hands to make the correct shapes with good indentations in the sand. When I’m almost done and starting on the word, adult, I start to notice that I really need to pee. I stop immediately, and I sit down. I try really hard to hold it, like I close my eyes and everything because I can’t believe this is really about to happen. It feels like I’ve just run a mile on a gallon of water. Fuck, I really need to pee.
I try waving towards Alysa to maybe get her attention so she can help me, and she never makes eye contact with me. You would think they would pay more attention to a little kid they left outside, but nope, they just ignore me. I curl into myself to desperately try to hold it. I close my eyes to concentrate as hard as I can. Ugh, please no. I’m 20 years old; I can’t pee my pants.
Oh god it’s happening. I can’t stop it.