Flash Fiction: What's so bad? (Patreon)

One of the grown-ups comes and grabs you by the hand.  “Come on, baby, let’s change your diaper.”

Your heels reflexively start to dig in, for what little good it does.  The caregiver might as well be a semi truck with how strong she is. You’re going to that changing table, whether you want to or not.  You have no say in the matter.  That doesn’t prevent you from saying,  “I’m not a baby!”

Your peers all giggle and point at you.  “BAAAAAAAABY!” They shout.  They’re ones to talk. They’re just as crinkly and padded as you are, but have no qualms dogpiling on whenever they get the chance. You’re just as bad as they are, in that regard.  It just so happens to be your turn for the bizarre hazing ritual.

“Stop!” you beg. “Please! I’m not a baby!”

The grown-up stops and regards you.  “Oh really?”

“Yes!”

“Okay”, she says.  She changes course. Rather than the changing table, you make way for a rocking chair. She sits first, and then pulls you into her lap, you’re diaper squishing beneath you. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it.”

You word spit-up all over her.  You ramble about your age, and your level education. You bring up your life experience. The fact that you know all about the birds and the bees. How you can dress and feed yourself.

“So you chose to wear that onesie?” she asks.

“No,” you correct her. “My Mommy and Daddy put it on me.”

“That doesn’t sound very grown-up.”

“Well they made me wear it.”

“Of course they did,” the grown-up nods. “That’s their job. Babies can’t be trusted to dress themselves. Or feed themselves. They’ll make a mess.”

You’ve had this argument before. You know you’re not going to win.

“How can I make a mess if you won’t give me the chance?”

“Why would I give you the chance to make a mess? You can’t even stop playing to go to the potty!”

“Because you make me wear diapers!”

“Because you don’t go potty!”

“Because you make me wear diapers!”

She’s clearly enjoying this.  You? Less so.

“Babies wear diapers. Their Mommies and Daddies and babysitters dress them and feed them and bathe them and change them.  Yours do all that stuff to you, so you must be a baby.”


The backwards argument always ends this way.  You knew it would end this way before it started, but you just had to give it a shot.  “I didn’t used to need diapers,” you sob.  The emotion rockets out of you like a gunshot.

“I know,” she says quietly.  “I know, baby.”  That simple acknowledgement, that you didn’t used to be like this makes you feel better.  Not good, but better.

You bury your face in your hands.  You’re not done sobbing yet. Not done feeling sorry for yourself.  Sometimes it feels like you’ll never be done.

“Question,” the grown-up asks.  “What’s wrong with being a baby?”

You peek through your fingers.  “Wha-?”

“What’s wrong with being a baby?” She repeats.

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes, yes. But let’s pretend you are.  What’s so bad about it?”

You think for a few seconds.  Babies get to wear comfy clothes and are cute, even when they’re disgusting.  They can chew on things and put things in their mouths. Their job is to literally play.  They can cry and scream and laugh too loud and it’s never really their fault.  They never get in trouble.  Not really. The diaper thing is pretty gross, but it’s not like you have to clean it up themselves.  The early bedtime sucks…but the naps are okay.  It sucks not getting the food exactly as you want it when you want it, but the extra attention is nice.

“Nothing, really…” you say.

“So why don’t you want to be a baby.”

“But I’m not a-”

A pacifier cuts you off from repeating the same worn out refrain. “Okay. Let’s say you’re not a baby.  Then whose fault is it?”

You mumble the equivalent of “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?” around the pacifier.

“You’re not a baby.  Who is making you act like one?”

You point to everyone in the daycare that’s not thickly diapered.  

“So is it your fault?  Is it your fault you’re getting the nice things?”

You shake your head ‘no’.  

“Is anybody else coming up criticizing you for being a baby?”

Again no.

“So…” she includes. “Either you’re a baby, or you’re being forced to be a baby, so it’s not your fault…OR” she winks at you.  “We’re all wrong, and you’re tricking us.”

Tricking them?  That doesn’t sound so bad.

She gives you hug and scoots you off her lap.  “Feel better?”

Still sucking on your pacifier you nod. One of your classmates runs up to you and points. “BAAAAAABY!”

You just shrug.  So?  They frown and walk away, clearly disappointed.

You start to walk away and feel the hand back on your wrist.  “Where do you think you’re going?” the grown-up lady asks.  “You still need that diaper change.”

Damn.  You’d hoped she’d forgotten about that.