Ian's Baby Diary

The other day Danielle and I were cleaning up the boys' nursery. Under the crib mattress we found a journal with Ian's name inside the cover. I've included a few of the entries below. I'm a little worried.

Dear Diary,

Time and time again the Large Ones have subjected me to a sadistic binding ritual they call "swaddling." The process leaves me helplessly bound and unable to move. My resistance is easily overpowered, and so I relent. In this helpless state I can do nothing but lapse into deep meditation. Most assuredly they think me mollified, but they know not the grand designs I have for them. Once I am released they will change my diaper. When it is removed, I shall have my vengeance.

- Ian

Dear Diary,

It has been almost an hour since the Large Ones last fed me. I can feel my body weakening. They have obviously forgotten about me and left me to die. My cries go unheard and my pleas for mercy are ignored. I am certain I shall soon shuffle off this dreary plane and onto a higher. Farewell.

- Ian

Dear Diary,

The Large Ones insist on dividing their attention between myself and a small, pink, fleshy interloper. My needs are often cast aside in favor of this Other. His riotous din disrupts my meditations both day and night, and he is surely siphoning away both food and attention intended for me. I cannot tolerate this nuisance much longer, but alas, my feeble body leaves me no recourse but to wait. And plan.

- Ian

Dear Diary,

Success. Today amidst the chaos of having my diaper changed I unleashed my watery wrath. Their shouts and cries of despair are like a wonderful symphony. They have underestimated me for the last time.

- Ian

Dear Diary,

The Large Ones make repeated attempts to communicate with me in the most ridiculous ways. Strange faces, unintelligible voices, and songs in a language I cannot understand leave me baffled. They are obviously either stupid, or trying to wear down my mental defenses. I fear it is working. I find myself caught up in their nonsense and even occasionally beginning to smile. Where once their efforts were met only with confusion and disdain I now find myself wanting more. My mind is slipping and the terror of madness envelops me further each day.

- Ian

Dear Diary,

My plans have been frustrated repeatedly. No matter the orifice from which I spew my liquid protest, the Large Ones seem to be impervious. I dirty their clothing and it is replaced. I soil their bedding and it is soon washed. My objections reach the farthest corners of my prison and still my incarceration continues. Their patience is great, but mine is greater. It may take years, but I will have my freedom. I wait with feigned longanimity for the day of deliverance.

- Ian