The latest change went off exactly as planned. When we tried to change me back, nothing happened. Paul was frantic, he sweated profusely as he reprogrammed the computer trying to restore me to my body. For some reason I couldn’t return to my former probability state. My associate Paul wrapped me the lab’s emergency fire blanket and took me home Wednesday night. He asked his wife Gina to take care of me until he could find a way to change me back. Gina agreed readily, saying she had always wanted a baby and her inability to have one had been the greatest disappointment of her adult life. She went out shopping for clothes for me immediately, while Paul stayed with me at the house. When she returned, she dressed me in the only clothes she had been able to find that would fit me; a toddler’s t-shirt and training pants!

Gina put me in their spare bedroom after putting a waterproof sheet on the bed. I tried to tell her I didn’t need it, but she was adamant, little boys had accidents she said and she didn’t want me ruining the mattress.

The next morning I discovered that I had wet my training pants in my sleep. I tried to hide them in the bathroom, but Gina caught me trying to stuff them under the bathroom sink. She asked me what I had been doing and I was forced to explain what had happened. It was the most humiliating experience of my adult life. She laughed and told me it was alright, that’s why she had bought training pants for me. Then she filled the tub with lukewarm water and insisted on bathing me like I was a little boy. When she finished washing me, she helped me out of the tub and dried me off. She insisted on dressing me in a clean pair of training pants before she would let me go to breakfast.

She led me by the hand to her kitchen where she helped me up on a kitchen chair. When I saw what she had prepared for my breakfast, I was horrified. Unsweetened oatmeal and milk for breakfast? Where was my coffee? Where were the bacon and eggs? Paul didn’t strike me as some kind of health nut. I had seen him eating hamburgers plenty of times at the lab. I was grateful to Gina for taking me in, but was this the kind of meal you served a guest? I asked her courteously for a cup of coffee and some butter and sugar for the oatmeal and she positively blanched. You’d have thought I was asking for a ham steak in a Kosher kitchen! I asked her what was the matter and she said, “Honeybunch, I can’t give you coffee, you’re too young! Why don’t you drink the milk instead?”

I shook my head in disgust and said, “How about some butter and sugar for the oatmeal then?”

She looked sadly at me and replied, “Butter and sugar aren’t good for little boys, Honey. It’ll taste fine once you get used to it. If you absolutely have to sweeten it, I have some applesauce in the refrigerator I can put in the oatmeal. Would you like that? No? Okay then, dig in! Come on, Honey! Eat some oatmeal for Aunt Gina! If you make a happy bowl, Aunt Gina will give you a banana for desert!”

I hung my head low and began to eat the mush slowly. “I thought childhood was supposed to be happy, carefree time. I don’t remember it being anything like this!”, I muttered to myself around the spoon.

When I finished, she wiped my face with a damp washcloth and led me into the living room. I sat in front of the tv and she turned it on. Instead of the morning news, she tuned it to Nickelodeon. A cartoon called the Rugrats was on. Apparently she thought cartoons were the appropriate fare for someone my age. Rather than argue with her, I sat and watched the show quietly. At least it took my mind off of my grumbling stomach.