I'M the Baby!

There's really no excuse for it. I live in the adult world with adult interaction five days a week, from the moment I get into the car at 6:40 am until 3:20 pm when I pick up Dylan from daycare. And yet still, even after hours of communicating in complete sentences, conducting myself professionally, and being mindful of my space, I am becoming a baby. A big, fat, baby.

My big baby devolution would make a lot more sense if I were with Dylan 24/7, if I were a stay at home mom, or if I had little to no adult interaction. But oh contraire! Dylan’s infectious mannerisms defy time and space and can be caught regardless of buffers, barriers, or grown-ups, oh my! Any efforts made to resist rug-rat living are worthless, and here’s the proof:

-	I don’t want to eat pancakes unless they are shaped like silver dollars, which I now call “silver cakes” (because babies love having nicknames for nicknames).
-	Apparently, said silver cakes don’t require utensils. Fingers work just fine! My pincer grasp? On point.
-	Everything is a celebration. You’ll know when somethings good, exciting, or has simply just been announced because I’ll clap about it. Dinner time? YAY!!!
-	I want to play, too. My woe is me “I’m short” complex has been completely wiped out by my ability to sit and ride on Dylan’s toy car…all through the house.
-	The fact we have 13 bouncing balls of all types sitting around at home is not good enough a reason to come back from the grocery store without one. If I see a ball, I’m going to get it…
-	…and blame it on Dylan.
-	Tongue clicking, exaggerated sounds, and talking to oneself are just a few of the auto-pilot mannerisms you’ll catch me doing these days, especially when alone.

And to think, my regression is quickly advancing without constant Dylan exposure. So going forward, just call me Tot-Mom. Not because I have a toddler, but because I have become one.