Chapter 3: Sanity is Surprisingly Fragile as a Baby

Chapter Three: Sanity is Surprisingly Fragile as a Baby (Edited)

I made some vaguely contented noises to signal I was full. Mom perked up immediately. I imagined her ears pointed straight up the second I made a noise, but I couldn’t really tell given where I was and my poor eyesight on top of that.  Holding me in one arm, she adjusted her blue top back into place, patted my back, and set me down in my crib.

I stared at the ceiling, lamenting my inability to crawl in a hole and die. I didn’t care what anyone else said, breastfeeding was mortifying. Then again, that summarized the entire reincarnation experience so far

I’m sure my new biological mother in this world did her best, but that still didn’t take away from the fact that I was stuck in a crib 95% of the time. I don’t think I'd even left this room once in the days since I’d first opened my eyes. There wasn’t much to look at; it was a bedroom of some sort. That’s it. There was not much else I could actually confirm as I couldn’t move and my eyesight sucked.

The boredom was excruciating.

Feeding times and the whole process of being a baby would be so much worse if it wasn’t for my other discovery.

My baby brain couldn’t handle me.

Conscious, sane thoughts came and went. Sometimes, particularly in calm moments, I was able to think almost normally. This was more torturous than anything else, given I couldn’t speak and couldn’t move, but it was something. In other moments when I was over-stimulated — moved too fast, having my ears pet, or even if I got too hungry or sleepy — it felt like my baby brain shut down and I entered autopilot mode.

 Autopilot mode, what I’d originally thought were blackouts, was basically normal baby activity but I couldn’t think at all. At least, I assume this was normal baby activity given I hadn’t somehow starved before I’d regained self-awareness given there was a lengthy period where I can’t recall eating anything. This instinct had probably saved me as it ensured I could eat and not want to die, but it didn’t make this process any less humiliating and I really wanted to be able to move and eat solid food again.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been aware. I don’t remember being born, which was a small grace. While the lighting did change, the autopilot mode meant I couldn’t keep track of things with any regularity. It felt like my entire life boiled down to just eating, sleeping, wiggling in vain, and baby noises. I frankly wasn’t sure given the blackouts where I was in baby autopilot mode.

Still, things definitely improved as time passed.

For instance, I could lift my head now. Previously, my world was four walls of a crib and a gray ceiling. But now, I could lift my head enough to see the object Mom placed before me.

It was a small, dull-green ball. Above, a blurry Mom stood nearby. I think she was watching me.

The last time I played with a ball had been as a middle schooler. I’d tried to throw a basketball into a hoop and managed to slam it into a guy’s head whose personality was best described as ‘willing to hold a grudge with a vindictive streak a mile wide’. There’s a reason I tried not to think of middle school.

This was a child’s toy. It should not interest me.

The counter argument was that I had been in here for God knows how long and my entertainment was sleeping and staring at the blurry ceiling. Any stimulation at all was a godsend.

Every day, outside feeding times or napping times, she had placed the ball in my crib. I hadn’t been able to do anything but note its presence there, but things had changed.  I certainly felt more energetic.

I placed my arms on my sides and pushed. Nothing happened.

I frowned. I pushed harder. Nothing happened.

Finally, I pushed with all my might. I overdid it and rolled over and nowhere near the ball. I heard a giggle.

I’m sure it was very amusing to her, but this was serious! I needed to move! The sooner I could move, the sooner I could leave this tiny crib! There was a world outside this room that I wanted to see! Ideally, it would be a world that involved solid food. I would settle for that much.

I repeated this process three times, to no notable success.

Eventually, I heard cat-mom leave to do… whatever it was she did during the day when not caring for me. I still couldn’t see well enough to even note details on the walls of my crib, nevertheless the ceiling, but I did hear one. The door she went through? Whatever it was, it was heavy. She didn’t have difficulty with it, but damn if it didn’t rattle the floor when she opened and closed it.

I stared above at the blurry color that was the ceiling.

I had hoped by now something would have shifted or changed. Maybe I’d wake up a foot taller or discover some form of magic I could spend all my time experimenting with, or something. I’d hoped I’d find something innate about myself to compensate for being a baby and get me out of this faster. Maybe this was all a joke and I’d be able to walk on my own as an adult tomorrow. 

That’s how the stories went, at least. Main character ends up in another world, immediately goes on an adventure.

They typically didn’t shit themselves involuntarily.

Then again, most could at least walk. I couldn’t. My most active and responsive limb was, weirdly enough, my tail, and even that was just wiggly.

I think I needed to face a fact. I was going to have to be patient. Just thinking the word left a bad taste in my mouth. I had no idea how fast catgirls grew (or would it be catfolk?), but I seemed human enough to understand this process would take a while. Even developing twice as fast would mean I’d be stuck like this far longer than I’d like, but I didn’t really have a choice at this point.

I was just going to have to wait it out and try not to go insane.

It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

~~~

I wonder if my tail will ever be long enough to touch my ears…

~~~

10,233 bottles of milk on the wall…

~~~

This is the song that never ends…Oh god that’s the 5,788th verse…

~~~

At some point, I think my brain tried to eat itself.

It was like the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night, wanting to sleep, knowing you needed to sleep for an important exam that day, but being completely incapable of getting back to sleep for hours. The difference was that this feeling stayed near-constantly in my waking hours because I could not do any of my coping mechanisms.

I couldn’t read, I couldn’t take a walk, I couldn’t do more than wiggle. I found my tail was, surprisingly, strong enough to help me flip over, but that was it. I was still stuck as a baby and utterly dependent on a lady I was pretty sure was my mom but for all I knew was my sister, a wet nurse, or a glorified babysitter. It wasn’t like I could even look at myself to see if we shared the same features.

I hated this. I hated this so much.

It was nighttime judging by the lack of light. I still couldn’t make out details unless they were a few inches in front of me. I’d been fed, cleaned, and rocked. But I couldn’t go toward the only respite from this state for reasons, because my insomnia followed me into this life. Or maybe it was normal for babies to just wake up randomly. Probably the latter.

I had to move.

I kicked, wiggled, daresay even thrashing, to get blankets off me.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl, let alone stand. But I needed to sit up. Just this one thing, and I could reclaim part of what I’d lost. It wouldn’t be much, but at least I would take the first metaphorical step.

My arms were weak. They didn’t respond well to my commands. I still managed to put them down on the soft sheets of my crib, put my towel to my side, and tried to push.

It said something about my state that it took minutes of trying to accomplish anything, but I did have a goal. I reached the wall of the crib which was, well, wood with a coat of white paint. This close I could see was somewhat worn away and more discolored than I’d thought.

Now, I had to face the hard part.

My arms and legs were basically jelly, but my tail had strength that continued to surprise me. I was curious what it’d be like when I was older, but as it was, my tail was the most developed part of me. Not that it said much, given I couldn’t weigh more than ten or twelve pounds.

Using what little strength my arms had for stability, I pushed up, scooting more to try and lean against the crib’s wall.

I was trying something I doubted any other infant my age would ever try. This was not easy. In fact, my arms already felt exhausted, and my tail wasn’t much better. I almost wanted to cry.

I wasn’t the picture of fitness before, but at least I wasn’t this. In my old life could run, I could move, I could lift, I had something to be proud of. Here, I couldn’t do any of that. At best, I was milk consuming void that just laid there most days, like most babies my presumed age. I’m sure I would eventually grow more, be able to think for longer periods, even stand, run, climb, do everything I could before and move.

But that was cold comfort in the now. Now I was still stuck here, unable to communicate, move, or even ask who I was.

I wanted to move.

My tail muscles burned as I pushed, and pushed, slowly raising myself. Then something flipped a metaphorical break as muscles gave out. Pain shot down my tail. Without ceremony I fell over. I was on the soft bedding of my crib, so it absorbed all the impact. I still felt like I’d face planted.

That. That was my best effort to sit. Ten minutes of effort and now my tail hurts and I feel exhausted.

I panted for time as I recovered, but soon felt the chill of the room seeping in. It likely wasn’t that cold, but it was enough to make me shiver. I’d been under blankets, some sort of comfort. Like Hell I could get back under those in this state.

I stared up at the dark ceiling and felt this stupid baby body begin to well up with tears. The chill felt awful, and being awake so long without someone nearby was doing something to me, like a growing sense of urgency meets anxiety that said, Why are you alone, you shouldn’t be alone, were you abandoned, please don’t leave me alone.

 I didn’t let myself cry even as the urge warbled up and I felt my own conscious control fraying on the edge of another blackout.

This was my next life. My reward. I chose this.

“Ceann beag?” Cat-mom’s voice shot out into the room, piercing even the general haze I heard most things in. She sounded tired but stepped closer. I heard her gasp, followed by an urgent, “Beag!”

In seconds, I was scooped up and held close. I felt her body heat and, even though my own exertion-fueled pain, I couldn’t help but note it felt nice. She stared down at me in concern as her own ears stood at attention before slowly folding down. She leaned in, nuzzling me in a way I couldn’t help but find myself surprised by.

She didn’t put me back in my crib. Instead, she took me to the other side of the bedroom where I think her bed was.

She laid down with me, nearly curling up and hugging me firmly but without crushing me.

She then, with one hand, began to stroke the back of my hair and sing again. “Ná bí buartha, a dhuine bhig…”

This was…nice.

I didn’t have a good comparison. In my old life, a maternal influence in my life just hadn’t been a thing. My dad did his best, but closeness and comfort weren’t in his vocabulary.

Staring up at her, or just her cascade of red hair and her chin as she stared back at me, I found I didn’t mind this feeling.

Held in her grasp as she sang an unknown melody, I drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Days, weeks, or months passed.

Some part of me wanted to blame my new life on someone. The only woman I’d seen in this world would be an easy scapegoat. This impulsive desire had no logical basis, I knew; she was just helping me. Mr. Muscles was to blame for being reborn as an infant with a conscious, adult mind and all the torturous frustration that entailed. Yet, he wasn’t here. Chances were, I would never see him again.

I could see my resentment like a seed. It’d be so disturbingly easy to let it fester deep inside until one day it could bloom in an all-consuming pile of thorn touched tendrils made of pure bitterness and unyielding anger that would sink into every inch of my being, wiggling around and always lurking just beneath my skin.

My old life wasn’t great, but it was a life. I’d had loved ones, friends, things I enjoyed that I would never see again. This world would always be a reminder I couldn’t go back. 

Even at this stage, I could tell resentment could be a fuel, a lasting motivation to finally make things my way. I’d never have to worry about lethargy again if I was too angry at the world to sit still. All it would take to nurture a true drive in this life would be holding onto this resentment until it could bloom.

I sighed. It was soft, so weak and lacking the expansive volume I was used to, but it was time to admit this was my new normal.

I held the resentment a moment longer, staring down the long path at its end,  before I smothered it in its cradle.

Footsteps zeroed in on me. A pretty,  freckle spotted face looked down at me with a quizzical tilt of the head and curly hair framing a face.  Her lips were pursed.

I focused. I pursed my lips. My tongue was clumsy, and didn’t want to cooperate, but I kept trying until I rangled it in.

I spoke my first word in a new world. The word was foreign, not like anything I’d said in my old world, but I’d heard it often enough since I awakened. More importantly, it was mine.

“Mama.”

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Chapter Three: Author’s Note

I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’ve had nightmares about this scenario, but contemplating rebirth and experiencing infancy amounts to something no less than utterly torturous in my opinion. Yet again, like many things I take issue with anime dealing with this subject, or just works in general acknowledging it, don’t do much or downplay it as ‘boring’.

Boring does not begin to describe being an effective coma patient in your own body. Oh sure, there might be some small things you could do, but an infant’s body is not meant for an adult’s mind, and just being stuck in one place at the whim of someone else, no matter how good intentioned, sounds awful to me.

There’s worse fates, to be certain, and you could arguably say a rebirth with mind intact is worth a period of boredom, but it’d still suck.

Until next time.

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