A note from terryrayc

I know the flow is slow but that's by design.  Things will speed up later  

Why is it that people refuse to treat babies as well people? Look just because I cannot walk, talk or use the bathroom on my own doesn’t mean I’m not a person you can talk to. That does lead to another question regarding this entire rebirth process. I remember talking and I remember walking...we will not go into the entire bathroom thing at this time, however. So not being able to walk or talk is like having a full set of instruction just still screwing up the build process.


So it’s been a while, I’m not sure how much time because no one tells me much of anything. I know it’s been a few months and between all the baby talk I’ve picked up a few pieces of knowledge. For example, my mother's name is Maria. Now I do not know that from her introducing herself...that seems kind of rude if you ask me. I know she’s my mother but shouldn’t she have at least introduced herself? How hard would it have been to say ‘Hello little one, I am your mother and my name is Maria’? Also and I know this will be hard to believe but it was weeks before I knew my own name. Nondol...what kind of name is Nondol? I like my mother, she pretty and seems to be kind to everyone but I have to say it...her ability to name something needs work.


I’ve yet to meet my father, which is strange in itself but add to that the fact that I’ve never heard anyone even talk about my father and you have to wonder. I’m guessing he isn’t going to be in my life much if at all. This is not to say there are not any men around. My mother seems to employ a lot of people and most seem to be men. Not that they interact with me that much. I seem to be limited to only women and young girls spending real time with me. I seem to remember from my old life that it’s always been this way.


I guess I should point out that while the people around me do not seem to want to talk to me like an adult those strange boxes do. Though I’m still not sure what the deal is. For example, when I found out my name the following happened.



What is a name but a view into the soul of an object. You now know your name!


 REWARDS: You get a name

 Now most people would be excited to complete a quest I guess and I remember from games that finding a hidden quest was the greatest feeling in the world…normally that was due to the rewards...however come on! I find out my name and my reward is my name!


This wasn’t the first nor the last time I had to put up with a smart-mouthed box producer. For example a few months later I was blessed by another visit from the useless box generator



 Hey so it took you a few weeks longer than everyone else but you know about how good things come to those who wait...that’s crap by the way...why wait just do it. You can now sit up without help...go you!


 REWARDS: None, don’t be silly why is this even a quest!

Sitting up did come with one change though. People finally started to talk to me like a normal person...most of the time. Mother still seemed to hold onto the hope that I’d never grow up. I like her, I really do but I’m finding out that mothers are crazy people at times.


Time continued to flow around me. From sitting up I moved to scooting then to crawling and finally to standing up. Which lead to my next visit from the god of evil, the quest box.



 Hey are you also getting tired to these. How about you work on doing something worth getting rewarded over!


 REWARDS: Don’t ask


Shortly after standing I finally figured out the whole walking thing. It seems walking isn’t like riding a bike, even if you remember how there are no shortcuts and you are forced to learn it all over again. Had I to guess I’d say it’s a mussel development issue. Also around that time, I said my first words. From memory, I knew that mothers had their heart set on a baby saying mamma first so I forced myself to start there. I know I remember a lot of words and how to say them and I think it should be possible to begin but I decided a few weeks ago to try and be a little normal for a while. So, mamma, it was, which as I thought made mother as happy as a cat on the back of a milk truck…wait truck...I can remember what a truck is but not the name of the city or country I lived in during my last life. Who sets these rules?


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