It has been a week since I was reborn, and thanks to that time, plus other small events that have also helped, my control over this body has improved a lot.
Of course, actions like standing up or even sitting up in the crib are beyond my capabilities, but at least I can now scratch the itch on my body and turn over to sleep in a more comfortable position.
Small actions that, after naming them, seem insignificant, but when it is impossible to perform them, the absence of these becomes unbearable.
What nonsense. Yes, I can do many more things than before, but I still don’t think I’m in good condition.
Damn it, I was dumb, too dumb. Fuck, I must have imagined it. I don’t understand how I could have ignored something so clear, so obvious. After all, I…
I know that may sound silly, yet it’s not, it’s not at all, because considering the physical and mental age I am, shitting myself is an unbearably painful but, at the same time, unavoidable act.
And that’s not all, since, considering that the nannies are not with us all day long, if I were to commit such an unpleasant act at the wrong time, I would have to spend hours with the poop stinging my lower back.
Wet poop and… no, no, no. Kyle, forget it, forget it, don’t remember it.
Yet, as much as I wish I could, there are events in life that are impossible to forget, and that is what happened after I first experienced this problem.
When that happened, I had a terrible time. I felt like dying inside from shame when I saw a delicate woman, with arduous movements, removing my dirty diaper and then wiping me with a wet cloth the dirt that had adhered to my body after it dried.
So, hoping to lessen that discomfort as much as possible, I naively thought of a plan.
I thought I should only hold the urge to go to the bathroom until the women approached me for daily cleansing, thus preventing what I expelled from sticking to me.
The scheme was easy to devise, but the implementation went far beyond that.
On the bright side, thanks to how difficult it was to squeeze my butt for hours and how focused I was on it, my mind adapted a bit more to this body, although it all caused me to end up extremely tired.
In the end, I, using my strong will, managed to endure until the appointed time.
However, I didn’t know at the time that baby crap has a pain that is easily perceptible from a distance, that or perhaps these women have a superior sense of smell to the average human on earth, for, without even getting close, they noticed that I was clean, so after tending to the other children, they left without looking back.
What happened after that, though, is not something I can blame them for. After all, if I had been attentive to their movements, I might have acted in time, but no, I didn’t, as to keep that inside me, I had to clench my fists and eyes as tightly as possible while cold sweat ran down my body.
Minutes after their departures, I reached my limit. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I let it all out, a big one, as I had kept it inside for hours, so big that the unpleasant feeling scaled from my butt to my back and neck. Also, being physically and mentally exhausted, I could not stop my body from crying uncontrollably, which caused the out-of-tune symphony to play again inside the room.
Horrible. That experience created a trauma that I will never forget.
Since then, I have thrown away some of the pride that has traveled with me here from my past life, letting nature flow freely without opposing it at all…
Fucking assholes, I hate them. If I had them in my face, I would definitely fight against them to the death.
How dare they lie to me?
I remember. I remember it perfectly. In their damned novels, they never talked about this. In them, the only things they narrated were fantastic and enviable experiences. They never mentioned how boring it is to be a baby and how terrible it is not to be able to move at ease.
Were your protagonists a bunch of perverts who liked to shit themselves to have the opportunity for beautiful women to clean up their waste while breastfeeding them?
If I had not experienced it firsthand, perhaps I would have spent my whole life in ignorance.
Still, I have learned the hard way that denying reality is the dumbest thing I can do, so I have to accept that much of this is my fault because I was dumb enough to allow to be fooled.
To think that I had even planned to train my body as a baby, either physically by doing sit-ups and push-ups or supernaturally by circulating magic through my body, to grow strong and healthy.
Regarding magic, I have not yet obtained conclusive proof of its existence in this world.
Okay, I admit that I’m pretty sure that one had something to do with the ordeal we had to go through as babies, for our appearances, I don’t think, are entirely natural. In addition, I have also noticed that the lamps that the women carry on their waists have a strange appearance since these are metal boxes long as a forearm and wide as an outstretched hand, which do not have any transparent crystal that hides inside the mechanism that originates the light that emanates from them, no, because their luminosity comes from some strange inscriptions that resemble the runes carved on their solid six sides.
Definitely, if someone told me that wasn’t magic engineering or something like that, I wouldn’t believe it. Even so, I have yet to see magic used in action.
A part of me wishes that this would happen as soon as possible because then I could decide whether to become a wizard or a warrior in the future, although the other part is afraid of how this could be used.
And, if it’s about fear, I wonder what our nannies think about us.
Even though I can’t see their faces due to their being covered, I don’t think they are afraid of us since I don’t get the impression that they treat us with enough care to keep us from getting angry.
Some of them are even rough with their attention, so if a baby moves too much as they feed it, it is not unusual to hear the sound of a slap, also a few days ago resounded in the site a loud blow, which came from one of the little boys falling to the ground, maybe the girl who held him dropped him by mistake, or may have thrown out of disgust.
Not that I can blame her if the latter is true. After all, these little brats are uglier than a mule kick to the stomach.
Although, in reality, their bad feelings towards us are probably due to our fathers, whom we have not seen even once.
In any case, from that day on, I tried to behave as well as possible when they were here, and, no, it was not because I was afraid of being thrown to the ground, for when I listened to that boy cry for hours after the blow, I assumed that we are tough enough to withstand two or three equal falls, so the fact that I behaved well before them is due to the pity I feel. After all, if I didn’t feel bad knowing the sad state these girls are in, I’d be worse than trash.
Well, as much as I feel sorry for them, that doesn’t mean I can do anything to help, as I’m not strong enough to do so. However, that may change eventually.
For now, the only thing I can do for them is to give them the warmest and most beautiful smile that my body with an adult soul can create since, in my past life, I remember hearing that a baby’s laughter soothes the wounded heart.
It wasn’t easy to learn to smile without the fun in between, as even though I don’t have a mirror to see myself, I’m sure that if I did it wrong, my face would become terrifying, like a scary movie of killer babies, so I had to practice for hours to perfect that action.
In the end, I reached a level I could be proud of, but my performance was ignored by the people I was striving for. The women, ignoring what I was doing, went about their business without even paying the slightest bit of attention to me, which caused a bit of resentment to begin to well up in me. Fortunately, this was stopped in time when the right woman showed up.
A woman, who appeared to be young since her size seemed smaller than the others, who, when she saw me smile, stopped for a few seconds, and although she soon returned to her work, at least she showed a little interest.
That was good, very good. I understand her. That’s the reaction I was hoping for. I know it is still too early for her to accept my approach, but in time she will learn that my feelings are pure and that I would like to be able to help them.
Since then, she has not attended me again, as the care rotates from woman to woman, but when she does, or when I learn to walk, I will go to her with a smile plastered on my face.