章 6: Date: July 1, 1979
Date: July 1, 1979
Dear Diary,
By the 8th week, I was able to sit—of course, with some support. Still, I was a solid two weeks ahead of the average baby curve. Hopefully, this early progress continues, and maybe this time around, I won't be stuck with a 5'5" frame. Let's aim higher, shall we?
And also, a big accomplishment—I started to form real words, not just blabbing but actual words! Of course, following the word rule, the first word I decided to say was my mother's name. Let me recount the incident.
One night, my mother was playing with me while my father watched. Suddenly, I turned to my father and said:
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.
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"What are you staring at, bitch?!"
Okay, I seriously hoped I could say that, but I didn't want to be bitch slapped by my father, so I called him "Abba" instead. My mother's reaction? She started crying with happiness! And, of course, I joined in crying too. I still can't control my emotions.
By the 9th week, I had my first real crisis: How do I become a genius in this baby body? Naturally, I turned to my brain's resident assistant—ChatGPT. I typed in, "You are reborn as a newborn baby with an adult mind. If you want a genius brain, what would you do?"
The answer was thorough but… well, not exactly useful. It suggested doing math training from the age of two. Even with my limited baby-brain capacity, I could tell ChatGPT didn't really understand the prompt. Undeterred, I decided to try 1 + 1. Why did that feel like a major achievement at the time? No idea.
After struggling through a few more basic problems, I realized why ChatGPT had recommended starting around the age of two. Turns out, even if I remember all my past experiences and have adult-level memories, my baby brain can't yet process complex tasks. Thinking hurts. Like, actually hurts. My brain's like a rusty computer trying to run the latest game—just not happening.
Even though I couldn't tackle complex tasks yet, I stuck with simple math problems, identifying patterns, and observing everything around me. So, I stared. A lot. I became the king of baby stares. Later in life, my mom would tell me how creepy it was that I'd just sit and stare at things endlessly, like some tiny philosopher or a baby serial killer in the making.
By the 10th week, it felt like some of that mental rust was starting to wear off. I could do 10 + 10. Yeah, baby! Progress! Also, I managed to sit upright for short periods without back support—another small but satisfying victory.
By the 11th week, I started crawling and exploring the room. It was exhilarating, to finally move around on my own. And that's when I made an interesting observation: we had a lightbulb.
Now, I know that might not sound impressive, but keep in mind, that this is 1979 in India. Electricity wasn't widespread everywhere. Realizing we had electric lights told me two important things:
We live in a developed part of the city—a luxury at the time. My family is well-off. Electricity isn't cheap, and having it means my parents can afford more than just the basics.
That was a bit of a relief. If I'm going to be reborn and start from scratch, at least I've got a head start on the comfort scale.
By the end of the 12th week, I was getting better at crawling—like a miniature speedster on a mission. I began exploring every nook and cranny of my new domain, and let me tell you, it was a wild ride. Toys scattered across the floor became treasures to uncover, and every corner held new mysteries. My parents, bless them, seemed both amused and horrified at my relentless curiosity.
The other day, I discovered a small, shiny object tucked beneath the couch. It was a coin! I reached for it, captivated by its gleam. My dad walked in just as I was about to pop it into my mouth, and he laughed while whisking it away. Apparently, that wasn't a good snack choice. Who knew?
One of the highlights of my week was the moment I finally figured out how to pull myself up to stand. It was a shaky endeavour, and I'm pretty sure I resembled a newborn giraffe attempting to find its footing for the first time. But I did it! And let me tell you, that sense of accomplishment was nothing short of euphoric. I was one step closer to mastering the art of walking—and maybe even running one day.
But with newfound mobility came a new set of challenges. I knocked over a lamp that week, and it crashed to the floor with a loud bang. My parents rushed in, their faces a mix of shock and concern. I couldn't help but giggle at the chaos I had created. In my mind, it was all part of my grand plan to test the limits of gravity. Spoiler alert: gravity won.
As the weeks rolled on, I became more and more aware of my surroundings. I was slowly evolving from this tiny, helpless being into a curious little explorer. Sure, I was still drooling and occasionally getting lost in my own thoughts, but I was also learning.
By the 13th week, I was walking a few steps while still relying on support. I mean, it wasn't a full-on marathon yet, but hey, I was two weeks ahead of schedule! There's something exhilarating about taking those first shaky steps, even if I looked like a drunken penguin trying to navigate an ice rink. Every step felt like a mini-victory—my own personal Olympics, and I was the star athlete.
But then came the 14th week, and let's just say... nothing happened. Yup, you heard that right. Sometimes, life is just a big ol' bowl of "meh." What did you expect? Not every week can be packed with action and drama.
I think it's a bit ridiculous to assume something monumental has to happen every other day. Like, come on! Sometimes you just wake up, eat, poop, and repeat. That's the beauty of being a baby—embracing the mundane.
So what if I didn't have a groundbreaking revelation or accidentally invented the next big thing? I was living my best life, and even in the stillness, I was learning.
Honestly, I took this week to reflect on my recent accomplishments. Walking a bit, babbling a few words, and discovering the mysteries of my surroundings were pretty big deals in the grand scheme of babyhood. So, I spent my time observing the world from my little corner, soaking it all in. I watched my parents interact, listened to their conversations, and absorbed everything like a sponge. You never know when that information might come in handy.
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