The Next Step
Yesterday was a "Little Day", a special kind of day that my Daddy invented for when I get too grownuppish to help me get back to being his little girl. Little Days are emotionally intense for me, and are a strange mix of frustration and humiliation combined with absolute joy.
The day began with being diapered, one of the first and most difficult aspects of enforced little time. The last diapers he bought for me have a patchwork quilt pattern around the waistband of pink bunnies on a yellow and blue background. Somehow the cuteness of these makes it harder, almost, than the regular white ones he often uses.
Then it was breakfast time and time for another huge frustration. I am not, when I am little, permitted to eat adult food or drink adult drinks. That means no coffee. Missing my morning coffee makes me want to pack and suitcase and leave him when he sits beside me at the kitchen table drinking his and spoonfeeding me scrambled eggs.
He made scrambled eggs for me, also not a big favourite, and tied the bib round my neck and spoonfed me slowly but steadily, something I also have a hard time with. It really is frustrating to have no control over how fast you are eating and what you are eating. But it is, in his philosophy, which we have discussed at length, an important aspect to the psychology of Little Days because it does so much to strip me of my independance to lose my control over what goes in my body. Much like diapering reduces me to feeling like a toddler with no control over that most basic aspect of my independance.
After the breakfast, he wiped my face with a cloth - this is another touch that I find difficult to bear but I did hold still for it. It's no wonder babies scream when their parents do this to them.
Oops, I have to go. I will finish this recollection in another entry shortly.
The day began with being diapered, one of the first and most difficult aspects of enforced little time. The last diapers he bought for me have a patchwork quilt pattern around the waistband of pink bunnies on a yellow and blue background. Somehow the cuteness of these makes it harder, almost, than the regular white ones he often uses.
Then it was breakfast time and time for another huge frustration. I am not, when I am little, permitted to eat adult food or drink adult drinks. That means no coffee. Missing my morning coffee makes me want to pack and suitcase and leave him when he sits beside me at the kitchen table drinking his and spoonfeeding me scrambled eggs.
He made scrambled eggs for me, also not a big favourite, and tied the bib round my neck and spoonfed me slowly but steadily, something I also have a hard time with. It really is frustrating to have no control over how fast you are eating and what you are eating. But it is, in his philosophy, which we have discussed at length, an important aspect to the psychology of Little Days because it does so much to strip me of my independance to lose my control over what goes in my body. Much like diapering reduces me to feeling like a toddler with no control over that most basic aspect of my independance.
After the breakfast, he wiped my face with a cloth - this is another touch that I find difficult to bear but I did hold still for it. It's no wonder babies scream when their parents do this to them.
Oops, I have to go. I will finish this recollection in another entry shortly.
posted by Ireland's daughter at Sunday, April 23, 2006
3 Comments:
That sounds alot like some of the things my daddy does to me, especially the face cloth at the end of being spoon fed. I hate it soo much. LOL
Hah! Isn't that the worst? Nice to meet you, Sammy. Thanks for stopping by. I enjoyed browsing through your blog and LOVED your star-chart! :) Hope we'll get a chance to compare more notes in the future. :)
Yeah that would be cool. Us girls hafta stick together to stay one step ahead of our daddies *giggling*
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