Days in my new life began to take on a strange rhythm. There was a lot of staring at the ceiling, being carried around, and occasionally watching my new parents freak out over things that didn't seem worth freaking out about. It was like they were living in a perpetual state of tidying up, and I was just along for the ride.
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
[MAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom—Amara—was currently wiping down the dining table for what had to be the fifth time that morning. I wasn't sure if she was fighting dirt or waging war against her own anxiety, but the intensity was real. She leaned in so close with her cleaning cloth that I half-expected her to start interrogating the wood grain.
Meanwhile, Dad—Evan—was in his corner, hunched over a pile of baby clothes. Every piece got the same treatment: fold, smooth, inspect, repeat. It was like watching someone prepare for a fashion show, except the models were all onesies and bibs.
It didn't take long to realize my parents weren't just tidy—they were obsessive. The kind of people who probably dusted their ceiling fans daily and had separate sponges for every surface in the house.
As I lay there in my crib, watching them go about their spotless routines, I had to admit, Mom was... captivating. With her soft features, shiny hair, and an aura that practically sparkled, she looked like the kind of woman who'd have been popular back on Earth.
But then she did something that made me stop in my tracks: she picked up a broom, stared at the floor for a solid thirty seconds, and then started sweeping an already immaculate spot.
What the heck was she even sweeping? Invisible dirt?
I couldn't hold back a smirk. She's gorgeous, sure, but there's definitely something... quirky about her. Like, if beauty were an RPG stat, she'd have maxed it out, but she'd dumped all her other points into "cleaning frenzy."
It started to make sense. Maybe Dad didn't "pull her" with charm or looks. Maybe she saw his perfectly folded laundry and thought, Yeah, that's husband material.
Weird people really do find each other, don't they?
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She was holding up what looked like a shiny rattle, waving it like she'd just discovered the meaning of life.
"Goo?"
I stared at her blankly, doing my best impression of a clueless baby. It's not hard—just widen your eyes and drool a little. Works every time.
She smiled like she'd just won a parenting award and shook the rattle again, making happy noises.
[MAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Dad peeked over from his pile of baby clothes, nodding approvingly. These two were like a well-oiled cleaning machine. She kept the house spotless, and he made sure every item in it was precisely where it needed to be. Including me, apparently.
Later that afternoon, I was lying in my crib, trying to make sense of everything. The house was so clean it felt like I was living in a showroom. Even my crib looked like it belonged in a magazine ad for "luxury baby living."
And then there was me. The baby. Or, more accurately, the reincarnated high schooler trapped in this tiny, needy body. Every day was a reminder of how far I'd fallen from my former glory.
But the worst part? My body had needs I couldn't control. Needs that were humiliating. And, as if on cue, I felt the all-too-familiar rumbling in my stomach.
"Oh no. Not again."
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to fight it off. Maybe if I focused hard enough, I could stop it. Mind over matter, right?
Wrong.
Nature wasn't interested in my dignity, and it wasn't taking no for an answer. Within moments, the inevitable happened.
Mom's nose twitched first. She froze mid-wipe, her eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting prey.
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Dad looked up from his folding station, sniffing the air like he was testing for poison gas. His face went from calm to horrified in record time.
[MAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
"Hey, don't blame me! This is biology! You try being a baby and see how well you handle it!"
Of course, they couldn't understand me. Instead, they sprang into action like a pair of disaster relief workers. Mom grabbed me with the precision of a surgeon, while Dad prepped the diaper-changing station like it was a triage unit.
I braced myself for the chaos. They worked quickly, their cleaning instincts on full display. Mom wiped me down like she was scrubbing a priceless artifact, and Dad provided backup with a fresh diaper and what looked like industrial-grade baby powder.
And then, as if the situation couldn't get any more surreal, it happened again. The glowing system screen appeared, hovering in the air where only I could see it.
[SYSTEM ALERT: LEVEL UP! You've gained +1 Agility!]
"Agility? From that? What am I supposed to do, crawl faster?"
The glowing letters mocked me as my parents continued their mission to make everything spotless. By the time they were done, I felt like I'd been through a car wash, complete with a polish at the end.
As they set me back in my crib, I couldn't help but wonder what other surprises this new life had in store. At this rate, I'd be the cleanest, most agile baby in history. And if my parents had their way, I'd probably smell like lavender forever.
But for now, I'd settle for a nap. Because in this house, staying clean was a full-time job, and I was their number-one client.