Chapter 02: Time For Maximum Effort!

I can't stress enough how terrible teething was. I mean, it's like Mother Nature was like, "Hey, I know you just got here, but let me make you suffer for a bit." Every time a new tooth started to emerge, it was like the devil himself was having a party in my mouth. It wasn't just a little discomfort, either. It was full-on pain. I wanted to rip my own gums out with a pair of pliers just to make it stop.

Let's talk about the drool. Oh, the drool. Like a never-ending faucet of saliva. I could fill up an Olympic-sized swimming pool with the amount of drool that came out of my mouth during teething. Of course, my mom thought it was cute. "Oh, look at him, he's drooling!" Yeah, well, I wasn't so amused.

The worst part? Nobody would let me bite them! I mean, come on, guys, what's the point of having teeth if you can't use them? I tried to bite anything and everything that came near my mouth—toys, fingers, even the cat—but everyone just kept pulling away like I was some kind of rabid animal.

Don't even get me started on the teethers. You know those little plastic things that are supposed to help with teething? Yeah, they're about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. I would just stare at them, wondering why the hell they weren't made out of solid steel so I could actually get some relief.

Let's talk about the sleepless nights. It was like my body had decided to betray me by not letting me sleep through the pain. I would scream and cry and my mom would come in and try to soothe me, but nothing worked. As if I were in a horror movie, except the monster was inside my own mouth. I would have gladly traded places with a vampire, just so I could have some decent teeth.

Teething wasn't all bad. I mean, it was a great excuse to chew on everything in sight. My mom would get mad when I tried to gnaw on the furniture, but hey, she should have known better than to leave me unsupervised. I have to admit, there was something satisfying about feeling that little tooth break through the gums. A mini victory, like I had conquered a tiny part of the world.

So, there you have it. Teething was a nightmare, but it had its moments. Now that I have a full set of teeth, I can look back on those days and laugh. Well, maybe not laugh, but at least I can smile without wanting to cry in pain.

Oh man, don't get me started on the whole "learning to talk" thing. It was a nightmare. It's like my brain was running on dial-up internet while everyone else was on fiber-optic. I would try to say something, I would know how to say it, but it would come out sounding like a cross between a dying cat and a car engine that won't start.

Though, my mom? She was like, "Oh, he's saying his first word!" Yeah, right. I was just trying to get her to shut up.

I remember one time I was trying to say "banana," but it came out sounding like "buh-nuh-nuh." My mom was all excited like I had just cured cancer or something. "Oh my god, he's saying 'banana'! He's a genius!" Yeah, okay mom. I'm pretty sure a monkey could say "banana" better than I could.

Then there were the times when I would just babble nonsense. I swear, I was like a tiny little conspiracy theorist, spouting off all sorts of insane ideas. "The government is controlled by aliens!" "The moon landing was fake!" My mom would just smile and nod like she was humoring a crazy person. Which, let's be honest, she was.

I was pretty sure I had a screw loose or two. I mean, I was acting like an actual child would for some unknown reason.

The worst part? The baby talk. I mean, seriously, what is up with that? Mom would talk to me like I was a dog or something.

"Who's a good boy? You are! Yes, you are!"

Ugh, I cringed just thinking about it. Don't even get me started on the baby talk mom did with me sometimes.. "Me hungry! You feed me!" then she would pout, it was adorable, but woman… have some dignity. It was enough to make me want to crawl back into the womb.

As bad as the baby talk was, it was nothing compared to the baby food. I mean, what is that stuff even made of? It looked like something you would scrape off the bottom of a shoe. The fucking flavors? Don't even get me started. "Carrot and sweet potato medley"? More like "mushy orange goo with a hint of regret". Let's not forget about the peas. Those little green demons haunted my nightmares for years.

You know what the worst part was? The fact that I couldn't even feed myself. I had to rely on my mom to shove spoonfuls of that disgusting goo into my mouth. It was like being held hostage by a crazed chef. "Eat up, little one! I've got a fresh batch of 'spaghetti and meatballs' for you!" Yeah, right. I was pretty sure it was just pureed roadkill.

In conclusion, the whole "learning to talk" thing was a disaster. Hey, at least I can laugh about it now. Who knows, maybe I'll get to use my baby talk skills when I'm trying to communicate with aliens someday. "Buh-nuh-nuh! Take me to your leader!"

***

First of all, let's talk about the boobs.

Oh my god, the boobs. I mean, as a baby, you don't really understand what they are or what they're for, but damn if they aren't the best thing ever, and dayum! Did my mom have a pair!

Don't get me wrong, I don't see her in some weird light, but there was nothing stopping a man from appreciating a nice pair of jugs!

Every time my mom came near me, I'd just lunge for those things like a starving animal. Can you blame me? They're warm, they're soft, and they're filled with milk. It's like a never-ending buffet of nipple goodness.

Let's be real, sucking on boobs wasn't the only thing I did all day. I also slept. A lot. I swear, I must have set some kind of record for most consecutive hours slept by a human being. I mean, why wouldn't I? I had nothing else to do. Plus, sleeping was the only way to escape the endless torture of teething.

Then there was the crying. Oh, the crying. You know how they say "boys don't cry"? Well, they clearly never met me as a baby. I cried over everything.

Hungry? Cry. Tired? Cry. Pooped my pants? Cry. It was my go-to move for everything—because that was all I could do. Let me tell you, it worked. Every time I cried, mom would come running to attend to my every need. It felt as if I had my own personal butler.

Let's not forget about the diaper changes. I mean, who thought that was a good idea?

"Hey, let's take this stinky, gooey mess and smear it all over a baby's butt. Then let's make someone else clean it up." Brilliant. Don't even get me started on the wipes. I swear, those things were like sandpaper. They'd rub my poor little butt raw.

Despite all the ups and downs—literally, I was always getting picked up and put back down—there was something comforting about being held by my mother. Maybe it was the sound of her heartbeat, or the warmth of her body, or the fact that she was the only one who could make me stop crying when I went on instinctive wailing sessions I had no control over.

Whatever it was, I loved being in her arms. As time passed, she grew on me. I mean, sure, she still insisted on wiping my butt and making me wear those damn diapers, but she also gave the best snuggles and always knew just how to make me laugh.

All in all, being a baby wasn't so bad. Sure, there were some downsides—like the fact that I couldn't eat solid food or form coherent sentences—but there were also some definite perks.

As for my next life? (Given I reincarnated once, it's possible.) Yeah, I think I'm still gonna go with being a cat. They get to sleep all day, too, but they also get to knock shit off tables and scratch people for no reason.

Yep, sounds like my kind of life.

Growing up without a father was tough, but my mother was my rock. I mean, she did everything a dad would do, except she never left to go buy milk and never came back! Ha! (That's a classic dad joke, by the way.)

I still remember the way she used to hold me when I was scared. It was like all my fears would just melt away when she wrapped her arms around me. When I was sick, she'd stay up all night, checking my temperature every hour and making me chicken soup. Of course, the soup was always too hot and too salty, but I never had the heart to tell her.

My mother wasn't just a caretaker, though. She was also my confidante and my best friend. I could tell her anything, from my deepest fears to my most embarrassing moments, and she would always listen with an open mind and a compassionate heart. Even when I made dumb jokes, she would laugh and roll her eyes—but I knew she loved me anyway.

As I got older, my love for my mother only grew stronger. She taught me how to tie my shoes (Which I knew how to do, but it was adorable seeing her teaching, so I humored her anyway.) how to ride a bike, and how to throw a baseball. She helped me with my homework and drove me to soccer practice. She was always there for me, no matter what.

Looking back, I realize how lucky I was to have a mother like mine. She may not have been perfect (I mean, who is?) but she was perfect for me.

Everything was going perfectly.

Until the day I got my first computer after incessantly bothering her about getting me one.

That day, my world shifted.

I had to get serious.

***

As I finished reminiscing about the past, I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of pestering my mother for years to buy me a computer. I was like a persistent mosquito buzzing around her head until she finally caved and bought me the latest model with all the bells and whistles.

It was like Christmas morning, except instead of opening presents, I was opening up a new world of possibilities. I spent hours tinkering with it, exploring every nook and cranny, and testing out all its features. I had finally found my soulmate (it was a different matter that this computer appeared ancient compared to what I was used to, but that's exactly the reason why I felt the need to explore every nook and cranny of it.)

I was a software engineer in my past life, and this was a moment I had been waiting for a while now.

I was 12 years old as of this moment, and my plans for the future were aplenty. It was 1999 in this world, which appeared rather similar to my old Earth but was different as well, and I would be damned if I didn't use the knowledge from my previous life to make something out of this new one.

As I was browsing the internet, I stumbled upon an article about Captain America. At first, I thought, "Meh, just another article about a famous character." Then, my eyes fell upon the name Tony Stark, in the news, and I swear I felt a sudden tingle in my pants, and a heavy feeling in my chest.

Tony Stark. Iron Man. The man with the suit and the swag. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Could it be possible? Was I really in the Marvel Universe?

I tried to brush off the thought, telling myself that I was just a little too excited. My curiosity got the best of me, and as I continued to search and browse, I found more and more references to the Marvel Universe.

Not as characters or movies… but as real people.

Tony Stark existed. General Ross was a thing. Captain America was real.

I mean, what the actual fudge, am I right? It was July 12, 1999, and if this was really true, then I was way before the main MCU timeline. I could already imagine myself high-fiving Tony Stark and giving him some of my sweet one-liners.

Then the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. What if this was all just some cruel joke or a prank? No, scratch that, what IF this was ACTUALLY real? That would be a fucked up situation.

Maybe I was just going insane?

My mind started to race as I tried to piece together what was happening. I had always found something strange about the town I lived in with my mother. It felt as if everyone was a robot or something, with no real emotions or feelings. I was living in a Twilight Zone episode. Only me and my mom being the real ones here.

Now, I was certain that something was off. I felt like I was being watched, like I was a pawn in some sick game. The worst part was, I couldn't leave. I couldn't run away and hide because my mother was all that mattered to me.

I was away from New York and the major big cities, so that was a good thing. As my mom wouldn't really agree on going away and hide in some fucking forest, I did what any sensible person would do. I started to prepare. I started working out, learning to fight, and practicing my survival skills in the upcoming months.

Like that would do anything…

Sadly, that was all I could do, and I was ready for whatever this universe had in store for me (hopefully).

As I sat there, alone with my thoughts, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in over my head. The stakes were too high, and the consequences were too dire. I was a small fish in a big pond known as the fuckfest of Marvel and I had no idea what was lurking beneath the surface.

It was time to face the reality that I was in way over my head. It was time to accept that I was truly and utterly screwed.

Also, it was time… for Maximum Effort.

***

AN: I deserve powerstones no?

Let's see... 600 powerstones in 24 hours and I'll mass release?