If Baby Could Talk

Somethings wrong.  Somethings not right.  Did it rain?  Did my crib flood?  Am I laying in a puddle? 

Oh no.  I’m wet.  I’m wet again.  I don’t like to be wet.

It’s dark.  It’s dark in my room.  I’m alone.  I’m alone in the dark, in my room and I’m wet.

Momma.  Momma, I’m wet. Momma, I’m wet and I’m alone in the dark.

I’m wet.  I’m wet.

Momma?

Momma?

Panic!  Panic!

I’M WET! I’M WET!  MOMMA! I’M WET!

MOMMA, IT’S DARK AND I’M WET!

911!  SOMEBODY CALL 911!  I’M WET! 

QUICK!  HURRY!  SEND THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!  I NEED A DIAPER CHANGE!
(and then I would like to take a ride on the fire truck with lights and sirens.)

MOMMA!  MOMMA!  THERE YOU ARE!  WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?

I’M WET!  I’M WET!

(sigh)  Thank you, momma. My bottom is dry now.  Warm and dry.  I feel better, Momma.

PANIC! PANIC!

BOTTLE!  WHERE’S MY BOTTLE?

IT’S BEEN HOURS, DAYS, WEEKS, YEARS!

I WANT MY BOTTLE!

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