Somehow, I still thought that Mum was joking. There was no way they'd take me out in public dressed like a baby, would they? And when we were on the road, with nursery rhymes coming out of the speaker beside me, I thought that they would leave me in the car. Letting other people see me like this might disturb someone; it wasn't acceptable to have an older child dressed like a baby. The little skirt she'd put me in would barely cover my diaper, and I couldn't bear for anyone to see me like that.
But then we pulled up in the huge parking lot around Planet Baby, and after a few minutes of banging and cursing from the back of the car, Mum was coming up to my door with a giant stroller. I told myself that it was really some kind of wheelchair; a mobility aid designed for somebody with a disability that made it harder for them to walk. It was just a seat with wheels, and there was nothing particularly childish about that. Except for the fact that it was bright pink, of course, and had a plastic tray that she could lock across my lap; giving a space to put things down as well as keeping me in the seat.
It was a stroller. I could deny it all I wanted, but as soon as I saw myself reflected in the glass-and-chrome frontage of one of the other stores in the retail part, there was no denying that I looked like a baby. I was bigger than most babies; but still a lot shorter than Mum. And with the styling of that stroller, sitting down surrounded by people who were standing, it would be possible for passers by to assume I was an actual toddler. Or maybe not a toddler, maybe just a young kid who wasn't well behaved enough to walk around on her own. People wouldn't think it was weird or creepy; they would just see me as a baby, or a late developer.
And then we were at the doors, and I realised that the store itself might make it easier. Planet Baby used to be a furniture superstore, and although they'd been set up to let you buy stuff for delivery, they still had the outsize automatic doors that would let some customers out with a full size closet in their cart, or a whole set of kitchen cabinets. Everything was built to a larger scale than usual, which was one of the things that had enchanted us when we were younger. It felt like the ceilings were higher, the aisles were wider, and just a little like we were walking into the land of giants. And after the huge warehouse-like building was taken over by Planet Baby, they'd capitalised on this by building giant replicas of some of their baby furniture. The whole 'toys' section was inside a giant playpen, designed so that parents could see what the playpen furniture would look like from their kids' point of view; and there were labels attached to each of the scaled-up items indicating where a regular version of the same product could be bought.
The decor messed with your sense of scale. So many things weren't the usual size that it was hard to judge how big anything actually was. And I was dressed like a baby, in a stroller that was a bit too large for me, so it would be easy for anyone glancing from a distance to think I was an actual baby.
"We're not going to get in trouble, are we?" Lindy whispered as we got closer to the door, leaning close to Mum and glancing at the families with real babies heading for the door from all directions. "I mean, Sally's..."
"She's just a little baby," Mum answered. "She can't help it. And remember, there's the 'babies of all sizes' display next to customer service. They make a point of having all the baby stuff in larger sizes than the common brands do, so that they can cater to kids who are a little larger than most babies. They know that some kids develop faster physically than mentally, and they make a big point of not discriminating. There might even be a couple of other babies of Sally's age here; nobody's going to look twice."
I was still nervous, but I was starting to realise that she was right. There were kids who had some kind of developmental disability, and still needed baby products well past the age where most people would think it was weird. And Planet Baby made a big point that they would provide baby products to anyone who needed them, regardless of chronological age. It was something I'd never really thought about before, although I'd read all the information boards when I was at the age where reading everything in sight is an irresistible urge. And I knew that it was a really progressive move for the store to support everyone; but it frustrated me now when I realised that it meant I couldn't use it to get out of this shopping trip.
"Come on, baby," Mum said, and ruffled my hair again. "You're going to see all kinds of new toys. Won't that be fun?" I raised my hands to cover my face, as if that would keep anyone from seeing me. This wasn't like having Mum baby me; this wasn't something I'd dreamed of. I was being pushed around in front of strangers, dressed like a baby, and all those people who didn't even know me would think that I actually needed the diapers, or that I wasn't able to look after myself. I didn't know why I even cared about the opinions of strangers, given that I would probably never even speak to them, but the embarrassment was close to unbearable now. I knew my hands couldn't protect me; they wouldn't cover the diaper or the outfit even if they were in the right place. But peeking out between my fingers made me feel a little safer.
We had been inside the store for about five minutes when a traitorous memory popped up, reminding me that this wasn't quite as shocking as I might have thought. I remembered being put in a stroller and pushed down the street in the dream that had first made me curious about being treated like a baby; all the strangers acting like I really was a little kid. And if that happened, maybe it wouldn't be too bad? It was still horrific, I was sure of that. But knowing that this was something I had imagined in the past made me start to wonder if there was some part of my brain that I could persuade to accept it. If I could just ignore the accusing stares of strangers, I could put up with this and not have a complete breakdown. But that was easier said than done. Every time someone glanced in our direction, it seemed that they were judging me, talking about what a freak I was, or maybe how shameful it must be to not be potty trained at my age. These people must think I was the laziest baby imaginable, or that there was something wrong with me so I didn't realise how embarrassing it all was. And I didn't want their judgement, or their pity. I certainly didn't want their stares on me. I just needed to be left alone.
We went past all the baby furniture. Playpens and cribs and changing tables. There were items on display, set in little dioramas, and then on shelves behind them were huge stacks of blue and white boxes, containing the same items in flat pack form. Every object on sale had a sign beside it with the prices, and a list of the different sizes to choose from. And after Mum had reminded us about the disabled kids who hadn't grown out of a babyish mindset, I couldn't help noticing that the largest sizes would easily be big enough for me. I'd never even thought about things like that, and here they were in front of me.
"Should we get her a new changing table?" Lindy joked, pointing at the pinkest, most embarrassing design she could find. And when Mum walked over to look at it, Lindy turned around to stick her tongue out at me. I couldn't help looking at the nursery furniture when my stroller was pushed right up to it; I was trapped in my seat, and had no choice but to sit wherever Mum put me.
This was like something that would have happened in one of those dreams. Right on the edge of what I might consider believable. And it was all too much for me. It was one thing to imagine myself turning into a baby again; to find that Mum had all the furniture and accessories to treat me like a baby in a dream, where there was no explanation behind where those things came from. But this was the real world, I was pretty sure. A place where ejust owning something like that was too weird to believe, and when I looked at the cribs I couldn't stop thinking about what a freak I'd have to be to actually want something like that. It might be okay as a fantasy, but I knew that it wasn't normal. Things like that would have to stay in my dreams.
I told myself that it didn't matter; that Mum would never buy something like that just for a week's punishment. They were just teasing me, ratcheting up the embarrassment to make me regret some imaginary sins. I could just shut my mind to it and filter it out. Imagine that this was just another part of the dream; something that wouldn't seem real as soon as we got home. Three was absolutely no reason for me to be crying now, no matter how much I was blushing. But even as I tried to think about other things, it was a real effort to keepe looking calm.
I wasn't crying. I wasn't going to embarrass myself more, like a little baby. I promised myself that I would never let that happen; bursting into tears would be even more humiliating than wetting my diaper in front of strangers, and I was determined never to allow that to happen. I just had to think happy thoughts, and not look at the vast assortment of carved wood and plastic on display in front of me.
Mum was talking about one of the cribs now, speculating out loud about whether it would be secure enough to contain me. I tried not to listen, but the images wouldn't disappear from my mind's eyee.
"Yeah, we could–" Lindy laughed, turning to look at me. And then she went quiet. "Well, there's no point buying this stuff here, is there? We're only going to be in the beach house for a week, it's not worth getting special furniture. Maybe we better look at stuff we can actually afford."
"I guess you're right," Mum answered, pushing meoff to follow Lindy as she walked away. "This stuff is more of an adult decision anyway, and I bet the baby will be getting cranky if we spend too much time here."
"Yeah," Lindy nodded, and I couldn't tell what was going on in her mind for a moment. "I just thought maybe this is too much. I mean... let's look at something fun." She didn't make any more jabs about me being a baby this time, and I hoped that might mean something. Could that be remorse? I only hoped that if she was feeling bad now, she might think twice before putting me through something like this again.