In Reverse, Part 6

Only a week ago, Thomas was the youngest member of our family, and most of our energy was spent on taking care of him. Now, I'm the one everyone looks at, including Thomas himself. You might think that sounds nice, and honestly, part of me does like it. But it's hard at the same time because my kids shouldn't be looking after me; it should be the other way around. Thomas has started to act protective towards me, being extra careful not to hurt me when we play together.  It's a relief after my worry of getting bullied, but at the same time, it actually makes me feel even smaller. To make matters worse, until Ethan has a chance to take me shopping, I'm relegated to wearing some of Thomas's old clothes we hadn't gotten rid of yet. He outgrew them last year, but they fit me just fine. You have no idea what it does to a man when he realizes he's wearing his youngest kid's hand-me-downs.

The lab tests me on a regular basis to monitor the loss of knowledge I experience as my brain shrinks, and it's exactly the reverse of a typical kid's progression as they age. I'm forgetting things at the same rate kids learn as they grow, although I'm still retaining much of what I've learned throughout my life. They've also been re-teaching me some of the things I'm forgetting, which is at least temporarily successful. Sometimes, I retain what I've re-learned, and others I forget it all over again. They've also been testing my physical strength, and I'm definitely getting weaker as I regress. So far, this weakness has only shown up in my arms and legs, but it's expected to spread unless they can stop the process. They're still hopeful about that, but they don't seem to be any closer to actually doing it than they were when the problem was first discovered, so they've begun to try to prepare me emotionally and mentally for the coming changes. They interviewed all three of my kids and found them to be suitable caregivers, albeit to different degrees, for me if I regress beyond a point at which I can care for myself. So, now we're all acknowledging the possibility that I could end up a baby who needs constant care and supervision. It terrifies me, so I try to spend as much time as possible playing and not thinking about it. Everyone insists I keep writing in my journal, though, because it will help me process my feelings and prepare in case this actually happens to me. They haven't said much about it, but I know they've begun discussing possible end-of-life care for me. That's the scariest thing of all because, no matter how it happens, I'm not ready to die.

It all scares me: losing my independence, becoming a baby, dying. These are scary ideas and possibilities. The irony is that I find myself becoming less independent as a result, seeking comfort and safety from my family, especially Ethan. I still play with Thomas, but I've begun to spend more time with Ethan and Sophie just because it makes me feel good. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy that I can't escape.

Today is my birthday. Chronologically, I'm 46, but physically, I'm now 9. They had a little party for me at the lab in an attempt to cheer me up. It was nice, and I did enjoy myself, but at the same time, it was a little embarrassing as it called attention to the fact that I was the only kid in the lab. Not that there's any hiding that fact at this point. I'm about half the size of everyone there. We had cake, cookies, and cupcakes, and I ate a bit more than I should have.

There was a bigger party when I got home that Ethan arranged. Joe and some of my closest friends were there, and everybody brought gifts. The things they gave me were the sort of things the average 9-year-old might get, mainly toys and games. Ethan explained to me before I started opening my gifts that everyone wanted to show that they accepted and supported me as I am now, so I wasn't hurt by the childish gifts. In fact, with that in mind, I was able to enjoy my new stuff. I also had another, larger cake and ice cream. One of the few benefits to my regression is that I don't have to worry about sugar or gaining weight since my cells are combining and my body is shrinking. So, I can pretty much have all the sweets I want. In fact, some of the scientists think sugar might help slow and even reverse the process. There's not much evidence to support it, but I'm glad to test the theory and keep testing it. Ethan has to limit my sugar intake, though, or Thomas starts to get jealous.

He got irritated at my party when he was denied a third piece of cake. "Why can't I have another? Mikey's had three."

Ethan explained as well as he could. "Well, it's his birthday, and his condition means he doesn't have to worry about eating too much sugar."

"That's not fair!"

"Okay, you can have three pieces of cake on your birthday, then."

That seemed to placate him.

Glancing back through my journal, I can see a pattern. I've focused heavily on each of my kids as I've ungrown past their ages. I wrote a lot about Ethan when I got younger than him, and I did the same thing when I regressed under Sophie's age. It's no different with Thomas now, and it forms a picture of measuring myself against my kids. It's an uncomfortable thought, but the three of them have made good metrics for my regression, sort of like the way parents measure their kids' height with marks on the wall as they grow. Except I'm growing down, not up.

It wasn't long ago at all that I wrote about being mistaken for Thomas's twin brother. That was kinda fun, but now I get people calling me his younger brother. We went out for dinner last night, and I had a few people giving me the cute smile adults give kids, especially when they saw me sitting beside Tommy. Our server, a middle-aged woman with wide hips and short hair, seemed especially interested in the two of us. We both ordered chicken tenders, which I've recently developed a huge affinity for.

"When my kids were little, that was about all they'd eat. But we have some really good ones here. Our salads are good too, so maybe you guys can get some good veggies in you."

Tommy looked up at her. "Yes, Ma'am, I like salads."

"Hey, that's awesome. A lot of kids don't care for the green leafies. How about your little brother here?"

Thomas grinned, choking back laughter.

I blushed as I answered. "I'm sure the salad will be fine." She laughed in surprise at the maturity of my response, obviously thinking I was a precocious kid, which is a typical reaction I get from people now. The truth was that my tastes had changed somewhat lately, and I didn't like veggies as much as I did a few weeks ago. But I still knew I needed to eat a balanced diet, so I made myself eat them.

Today, they clocked me at eight years old. I've regressed out of even Thomas's hand-me-downs, and he's noticeably bigger, taller, and stronger than I am. I've begun to enjoy more things he's not interested in, toys and games that are too juvenile for him, as I've experienced some mental and emotional regression along with the physical effects. Last night, Tommy and I were playing a video game when I lost my temper and started yelling. Ethan heard me and came into the room.

"What's going on in here? What's with all the yelling?"

I looked at him red in the face. "This game is hard, and Tommy keeps beating me!"

Ethan sighed and stooped down to look me in the eye. "That's how games go. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You know that. You also know we don't yell in this house. If you can't play nice, you're not going to play at all. Now, you're in time-out for five minutes, so come in here with me, sit on the naughty stool, and think about the right way to act."

I looked at him, hesitating, my eyes starting to fill with tears.

"Now, Mikey. Put the controller down, and let's go."

I did as he said as the tears started to fall and Thomas started to snicker and giggle. I was taken to the living room, where I sat on the stool my kids have all sat on. I was so embarrassed and shocked that I couldn't keep myself from crying. After five minutes, Ethan walked over and knelt down in front of me.

"Dad." It was the first time he'd called me that in weeks. "I know you're embarrassed, but I can't let you break the rules and yell at Tommy like that. You know better, and I need you to follow the rules. If you don't, I'm going to have to punish you just like you used to punish us and like I do Thomas. It's only fair. You know that, right?"

I sniffled. "Yeah."

"Okay. Just follow the rules, and I won't have to do this again. You can go play, but you know you owe Tommy an apology."

"I know. I'll apologize to him, and I apologize to you too."

"Okay, that's better. I love you." He hugged me, and I sobbed a little, feeling very weak, vulnerable, and immature.