Reverse Big Situation

Morning Pages 6/30/23

I wake up in bed and Nicole is laying next to me. Her tattoos seem smaller to me as I rub the sleep from my eyes. Pulling back the covers for easier morning cuddles, I am frozen with disbelief. Laying in bed next to me is an 8 month old baby Nicole swimming in what was regular fitting sleeping wear just 7 hours ago.

How many Vicodin did I take before bed last night? Just the one, I’m sure. This can’t be happening. “Dummy??” I call out to the apartment from our room. It’s our term of endearment. Better than “babe” or “honey.” She calls me “Stupid” it’s love language most wouldn’t (or shouldn’t) understand. I don’t know what’s wrong with us either. Well, I mean, one of us is clearly now a little baby with some spit up on their mouth.

The reality sinks in. Somehow, we’ve found ourselves in a 13 Going On 30 situation. Like a Reverse Big situation. Baby Nicole looks up at me in wonder. Her chubby little tattooed arms waving around in that uncontrollable baby way. Managing to grab her phone by the corner between her rolly wrists, Nicole brings the smart device up to her face. Eyes open wide with determination, mouth agape as if about to pour out words. The edge of her acrylic phone case makes it to her lips and she clasps down her jaw and begins slobbering and all over its smooth surface.

“Huh,” I say out loud to her finally, “somebody is teething.”

I grab a laundry basket from the closet and fill it with her favorite shirt, a stuffed animal she’s kept since childhood, and a couch pillow to keep her propped up. Placing her in this makeshift baby carrier, I pat her little bottom and say, “Don’t worry, I know what to do. We’re going to go for a little drive. Do you wanna go for a ride?” I don’t know if she can understand me. And if she could, I don’t know why baby talk would make it any better.

In fact, why do we talk down to babies at all? If they CAN understand our words, I’d think it would suck to hav everyone talking to you like you’re an idiot. So if we’re going to use full sentences with babies, we may as well talk to them like we would any person.

I beg Nicole not to go to the bathroom and I carry. Her out to our car. The sun is already beating down on us for 10 in the morning. I glance down as I carry her across the street.

“Hey, don’t worry,” I assure her. “I won’t forget you in the car today.” Hopefully she doesn’t realize that I am about to drive with her in the front seat and no car seat or safety restraint.

I start the car.

“Do you want to listen to our Chill Vibes playlist?” I ask as I turn up the car stereo volume. “Just kidding, I’ll put on the Wiggles.”

Man, I wish she wasn’t s baby right now. She would think this is so funny.

Our drive goes along smoothly. She gets upset for some of it. Usually whenever she loses grip of her phone and it falls from her mouth.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost to where help is,” I try to say as reassuring to a baby as I can. She just makes those loud baby coo sounds mixed with some spit filled raspberries from her lips as she bends and kicks one leg repeatedly. “Yeah, ok.”

Worried that the police might shoot her in a panic, I pull the car into the parking lot of the only place I could think of for help. Carrying her bundled little baby basket out of the car and up drive way, I tear up. How did this happen? How will we get her back to her regular age? Could I claim a Child Tax Credit this year?

Pausing for a moment, I look at the door in front of me. “Tacoma Fire Station 13.”

Nicole gets fussy. Small whines give way to billowing baby wails. I set her basket down on the doorstep and look into her adorable watery eyes. My hand reaches down to clasp hers and she reaches up to grip my thumb with all her strength.

After much dramatic pause I manage a few words. “Hey, wait for me,” I touch her cheek. “JK, good luck.”

I knock on the door and head back to the car. “Fruit Salad” can be heard faintly as my car drives out of site.