I’ve spent hours considering the problem of why the process won’t reverse. I’ll have to come up with something soon, though, my reflexes are going and I keep spilling my drinks on my undershirts. I can’t seem to control my hands anymore and even if I hold a glass with both hands, I still spill it. I’m wearing the last clean undershirt she bought me.

Over the past two days I’ve noticed a change in my wife’s attitude toward me. At first she was solicitous of my well-being, checking on me every few hours, but gradually she’s become more dictatorial, telling me what I should do and when. She’s started making me take naps in the afternoons and she won’t let me even get close to the bar. She’s begun serving vegetables at every meal (which I despise!) and insisting I finish everything on my plate. I’ve let her have her way so far, but I’m sure things are going to come to a head soon. Just because I have the body of a toddler doesn’t mean I should be treated like one.

That evening my wife and I got into a row. She discovered me making a drink from the bar and took it away from me. I lost my temper and told her that I was a man and had a right to do as I please. She replied that I didn’t look like a man and she was only concerned for my welfare, then she smiled and told me it was mommy’s orders. I told her that I didn’t take orders from anyone, much less my so-called mommy. I said that once a man is out of diapers he doesn’t have to take orders from a woman and I wasn’t about to start taking orders from her. She told me that I might be taking orders from her sooner that I thought and stopped speaking to me. She stalked off angrily and the two of us went to bed mad.

The next morning my wife seemed to have gotten over the fight and made me breakfast as usual. I had to be helped onto the kitchen chair and discovered to my horror that I could barely reach the table. My wife saw my difficulties and helped me off the chair, then stacked phone books on the chair before reseating me. She plopped a plate of oatmeal in front of me followed by a large glass of milk. I asked her to pass the honey and she refused! She told me that it was dangerous for me to have honey at my age. When I asked her why, she told me that children under the age of five shouldn’t have honey. It might be contaminated with botulism and I could die. I pointed out to her that I was forty one years old and immune from the effects of the contamination. She replied that maybe I had been forty one years old at the beginning of the week, but not now and passed me the sugar bowl instead. When I asked her where my cup of coffee was, she told me that we had run out yesterday and she had been too busy to stop by the grocery store to buy any. I asked her why she had given me milk instead, she knows how much I hate milk. My father always said that milk was only fit for babies and cooking. Real men drink beer or if they’re sick, soft drinks. She told me it was all we had in the refrigerator and if I wanted to have some water, there was plenty in the kitchen faucet. She knew I couldn’t reach the sink at my present height! I grumbled under my breath as I drank the vile stuff.