An Infant's Journey

A friend of mine posted  a sign on Facebook that said, "Life isn't a race, find joy in the journey."  I've seen a lot of inspirational messages on Facebook and I've even posted some. But, for some reason, this one got me thinking  about where is the joy in an infant's journey. The following may not be accurate, but it's my take on an infant's journey.  

After living in a comfortable cozy home with all of my needs met, I was evicted and thrown into a cruel cold world, just because I hadn't paid rent for nine months. I had no clothes and was forced to live in rags and paper-lined plastic bags that seemed to be wet all of the time.  For months I was fed a thick, fatty, cream colored gruel that was lukewarm. Yuck. But, I have to say, the gruel delivery device was not unpleasant and I grew quickly, so the stuff probably had an honored spot on the food pyramid. 

And, the giants.  Scary creatures with massive heads and big white Chiclets in their noise holes. Those holes made strange dove like sounds sometimes and odd blah-blah sounds most of the time. But, every once and awhile they would produce the most comforting melodic sounds. Those sounds rarely failed to knock me out.

The giants swung me around like a bag of garbage. Up and down, all day long. When my stomach couldn't take it anymore and ejected some of the, now curdled, gruel, the giants got all excited and scrubbed me with a course wet cloth. Like that wasn't punishment enough , I was put into a cage and abandoned in a dark room - solitary confinement.  I still don't know what felony occurred to justified solitary.  

Ouch. Now some dull screwdriver like thing is trying to push its way through my gums, and it doesn't feel good at all! Although, when one of the giants dipped its finger in an amber colored liquid and rubbed my gums the pain did subside. After the second dip, you might say I felt no pain and I was out, like a flea invested dog sharing a sleeping bag with Larry the Cable Guy on his honeymoon.   

And, my poor knees. The giants keep putting me on a floor covered with burlap like material cleverly dyed to look chic.  They entice me with their noise holes, by making pleasant sounds, to catch them while they back  away on their elongated lower limbs. They must have a different model of lower limbs, mine don't expand like theirs. Or, maybe there was a flaw in the manufacturing process and mine will be recalled. At any rate, my knees are paying a price and it's more than I care to pay.  

Fortunately, I've  learned how to control the giants. When I've had enough of their wet plastic bags, their knee rash game, or any one of their many irritations, I turn on my warning system. It starts at Defcon 5 the lowest level; consisting of a soft mew and whine. Defcon 4 is first noticeable by moisture welling in the eyes followed by a louder mew and whine. Defcon 3 builds on 4 by adding soft cries and more tears. Defcon 2 is getting serious, pets are aware there is a problem and siblings are glad they have their own room. Defcon 1 is close to Armageddon, noise levels approach 747 levels, all neighbors are awake and sobs are sucking the air out of the house like a leak on the space lab.  At Defcon 5, I always get their attention. While I'm happy to have some control over my incarceration, I long for finding the joy in this journey soon .