It came slowly.
At first the world was a colorful blur of shapes and movement where nothing stayed or lasted for very long. Those were the times when everything was soothing and could cause delight. Other times were of darkness and cold that led to terror and to tears. Thankfully those were few and far between.
As time moved ever onwards, the shapes started to form figures and the smears of color settled into place. These were people and things, and suddenly there was a sense of permanence. If something left the field of view, it was not gone forever. It was just over there.
Over there became over here became back there and movement became something controlled and not something that happened. It was so cool!
Still… the dots didn’t quite connect. There was mama and papa and even if the long straight stuff that swayed around mama’s face looked wrong (shouldn’t it be curly? darker?), and papa didn’t have the short prickly stuff that grew under the part of his face that stuck out, they were still mama and papa and they knew everything. They had to be right, right?
Thoughts and limited understanding pushed forwards, and other things began to make sense. That was a table; you ate there. That was the kitchen, mama cooked there. You held hands with Papa when he wanted you to “walk”. Walking meant being up on two feet, instead of hands and knees.
Walking is what ultimately started it all.
Because with walking came falling, and with falling came cracking your head on a side table, and with cracking your head you became she.
A sob caught in her throat, and tiny hands hands lifted to poke at the cut bleeding sluggishly on her forehead and Papa was picking her up and brushing her fingers out of the way to get a good look. The blonde man looked relieved and a laugh bubbled out of his throat, “Just a bump, my cute little Tunafish! You’re so brave and strong! Not even any tears!”
I don’t cry over stupid things like bumping my head, she wants to say but the part of her that had been the all of her only a moment before held her back. It was also the part of her that kept her from freaking out and flailing about— who even was Papa? Her dad was a grown ass man nearly sixty, not this kid that looked like he might be her baby brother’s age.
Even as he cuddles and coos to her, she’s twisting in his arms to look around. The house is small and familiar and hers but not hers. It’s not the home of almost thirty years that she remembers, but it is the home of the her that was before her.
It’s all very confusing. There is the her that currently is, the thirty year old woman struggling to come to terms with abruptly becoming a toddler in someone else’s family. There is the her before her, that may have been a boy because that is most assuredly a penis all hanging out down there, who is still curled up somewhere inside her making it a bit easier to come to terms with the sudden physical gender switch.
Sort of. Maybe. Kinda? Look, dicks are creepy. They were creepy when she was the woman before the her (him?) before her, and they’re still creepy now.
It gets less confusing a few days later when she overhears her mama-not-mama answer the phone and say “Yes, this is Sawada Nana.” in that cheerful voice that soothes the her before her. It’s like a clarion call to the her that currently is.
Oh.
My.
God.
I am the insert in a self insert fanfic. What the shit, self?