Baby Blues (Creative Writing)
It's been a while since I've posted a creative writing piece. I hope you enjoy this one and it gives you a little laugh. The Writing Prompt was: After an extreme evening of fun you wake up feeling groggy and fall over. The ground greets you much quicker than usual. You waddle over to a low-lying mirror and see that you’re a baby, but remember everything. You parent’s voice is lilting up the stairs. What do you attempt to tell them? How did this happen?
My head starts to pound as I awake. I guess I did have a little too much to drink at Jeff’s going away party last night. The clock beside the bed reads 11am. What? I am late for work! Dammit!
I try to stand up, but my head feels like it’s being hit repeatedly with a sledge hammer. Bong, wham, bam! Ugh, today is going to be a bad day.
I decide to roll out of bed instead. As I do, I flop onto the ground with a soft thud. I attempt to stand. But something still doesn’t feel quite right. I am standing, but the world seems a lot “taller” than normal. It’s as if I was still lying on the ground from my pathetic bed roll, looking up at the ceiling. Shaking away the cobwebs from last night or at least trying to, I walk towards the bathroom.
As I do, I catch a quick glimpse of myself in mirror that hangs on my closet door. Wait…what the hell? I slowly back up and stand in front of the mirror. I look to my left and then to my right, someone is playing a trick on me, right? Reflecting back at me is a baby. Not just any baby, one that looked exactly as I did when I was that young. Short brown hair, freckles on the face and big blue eyes staring back at me. I blink my eyes and the baby blinks too. I lift my right arm; the baby lifts their arm too. I scrunch my nose; the baby scrunches their nose or at least tries to do so. Because it’s a baby, it doesn’t quite get the nose scrunching thing yet. The nose scrunch ends up being more of an “I Dream of Jeanie” nose twinkle. I take a step back and then forward. The baby is in perfect unison with me. It’s like I am the baby.
Then I hear my parents’ voices. They have been visiting from out of town and staying in the guest room. I will just go say good morning and confirm with them that they see a grown man before them, not a baby. This has got to just be a really, really bad hangover.
I waddle towards the door, damn, I am waddling. The door is closed. I can’t reach the doorknob.
“Fred, are you ready? We have massages scheduled for 1pm. We have to leave soon,” I hear my mother say.
Noooo, they can’t leave yet.
I yell out to my mother.
“Mom, can you come here?” To my horror though, it sounded like this, “Mama, goobi, gabo goo!”
Whaaaaatt? No way. I try again.
“Mama, goobi, gabo, gooooo!”
I am now becoming frustrated. I feel tears falling down my face.
“Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh” I let out ghastly sounding scream.
“Jack, is that you?” I hear her say.
“Mama”, I yell and fall, my butt hitting the floor hard.
Oh crap, here comes an all out tantrum and I can’t stop it. I start to wail, bang my fists on the ground and cry like a baby that’s gotten a lollipop taken away from him.
My mother opens the door. “Jack, what on earth is wrong?”
I settle down a little, sniffle and start to whimper a bit.
“There, there, Jack. You don’t look so good. Are you sick? Let’s get you back to bed.” She says.
She takes my hand, and I grab it. Her hand engulfs my tiny baby palm. I never realized how soft and loving her hand felt before.
We walk towards the bed. As we get closer, I reach my hands up towards her...as if to motion “Pick me up, mama.”
She looks at me a little strangely.
“Me, ba-ba”, I blurt out.
“Your ba-ba?” she asks.
Apparently baby Jack wants a drink. I reach my hands up towards her again. She looks at me incredulously.
“Jack, you don’t want me to pick you up and help you into bed, do you? You’re a grown man, for heaven’s sake. Give it a try yourself”
Woah, good, so I don’t look like a baby to her. That’s good news.
I grab hold of the comforter and attempt to climb up the bed. Realizing that to my mother, I look as normal as always. This must look really crazy to her right now.
“Fred!” she calls out to my father.
“Fred! I think there is something wrong with Jack. He’s….well, just come here.”
My father enters the room, just as I loosen my grip from the comforter and fall to the floor.
He looks towards me and then towards my mother. Then, back towards me again.
“Dada…ba-ba,” I say.
He laughs. “Rough night, huh, buddy?”
He walks towards me. He reaches out, puts his big strong arms underneath my armpits and lifts me up off of the floor.
“Ok, you need to help me here.” He says, as my baby legs and feet dangle in the air.
I try to move and pivot towards the bed, but I end up just kicking my feet back and forth. I giggle.
“Ok, let’s try this.” He swings his body towards the bed, with me still clutched in his arms and he kind of flings me. I land on the bed, but bump my elbow on the bed frame.
“Owie. Boo-boo,” I say.
My parents glance at each other. I can tell they are both trying not to laugh.
“Jack, here, let’s get you under the covers. I will bring you some aspirin and water. You can then just sleep this off. Ok?,” my mother says.
I nod my head yes. She disappears out of the room.
“Jack, you really did a doosey on yourself, didn’t you? Rest up. All will be ok when you awake later.”
I wanted to say, “Thanks, Dad.” But afraid some sort of baby babble would come out of my mouth; I just nod to him as well.
He pats me on the shoulder and leaves. I roll over and decide it is best to get some rest. Perhaps my parents are right. Last night was too wild for me and I just need to sleep it off. I pull the comforter up over my shoulders, close my eyes, and welcome the sleep that will eventually come. As I drift off to sleep, I shove my thumb into my mouth and drift off into a peaceful slumber.