Personalias's Flash Fictions

Chapter 9
Nanny

 “But I’m not a baby!” you hear yourself whine.  Admittedly, the argument doesn’t too sound convincing when you put it that way. It doesn’t sound convincing considering how you look, either.

You’re in a highchair.  “Your highchair”, Nanny said

You’re wearing a bib.  “Your bib”, Nanny said.

And booties.  (Your booties.)

And mittens.   (Your mittens.)

You’re bereft of any other clothing except for of course, “your diaper”.

Add to that the omnipresent smell of baby powder, the globs of mush smeared over your mouth, and the crinkle that happens every time you wriggle in your seat, you don’t look like you’re fit for any other part BUT baby.

It’s been a rough day, so far.

“I’m an adul-” your words are cut off as Nanny forces another spoonful of the hideous mush into your mouth.  It’s a weird tasting mix of pumpkin and chocolate that does NOT go well together.  It’s got a chalky aftertaste that’s laced all to hell with fake sugar.

“I don’t feed grown-ups,” Nanny says before dipping another spoonful into the jar.  “I feed babies.”  She must feed babies ALOT.  You’re already three jars in, the cramps have already started, and   Nanny shows no signs of stopping.  “What are you?”

“I’m an adul-!”  The spoon cuts you off.  

You swallow.  She speaks. “Grown ups don’t need Nannies. You do.”  She won’t even say ‘adult’. It’s always ‘grown up’ this or ‘grown up’ that.

The cramps are getting stronger.  Something about it must show on your face.  “Something wrong, baby?” she asks.  

You grit your teeth.  “Nnnn-nnnn…”  It’s a lie. She knows it.  Another cramp flares up and you squirm. The crinkle reminds you of the alternative.

No-no-no!  You are NOT going to poop your pants!  You are NOT doing that to yourself!  You are NOT a baby no matter what Nanny says!  The next cramp makes it so you have to close your eyes and clench your cheeks.  The pain is traveling all the way down to your legs it's so bad.

Can Nanny help baby?”  you hear.  You’re doing everything you can to hold it in.  It hurts.  Everything hurts.  You’re GOING to poop yourself, part of you knows.  Yet you fight. If you can just keep your padded ass planted against the highchair’s hard wooden seat, nothing will-

You open your eyes just in time to see Nanny press a button on the highchair's side.  You hear a faint click and then feel the bottom drop out beneath you.  You don't fall out. The trap door isn't enough to cause a fall. You didn't fall.  Something else did.

The seat wasn’t there anymore.  And everything that was holding back has just come flooding out into your diaper.  You’re crying, not bawling.  Babies ball.  Adults cry.  Right?  Right.  That’s what you tell yourself.

You look up at her.“Nanny?”  You whimper.  “Can you please change me?”

Nanny folds her arms in front of her.  “I don’t change grown-ups.  I only change babies.”  She looks you in the eye.  “So... what are you?”