From Baby to Buddy

Oh My GAWD!! Somebody help me!! Somebody took my baby!!! My baby is GONE!!!!

I left my baby and went to Ghana for only seven weeks. He was a sweet cuddly boy, whose only ambition at the time was to procure a warm cup of milk and perhaps the bulk of YOUR food.

That aside, he was pretty content to go along with the day’s agenda.  But when I got back, my baby was gone. In his place, there is now a snarling, growling, stomping, hulking MAN in  midget clothing.

My baby used to toddle over to me, and wait patiently for me to pick up, whimpering with sweet baby coos. But THIS old man grunts, pounds his forehead into my shin and thighs and howls his demands.


If I’m not quick enough to lift him up, a meaty 18 month old hand will grab my wrist and jerk me down to knee level to make the owner’s point.


My ‘Baby’ is gone, and in his place is ‘Buddy’.

Buddy has numerous diva demands:

Milk ain’t cold enough!

Cheerios ain’t sweet enough!

Hugs ain’t tight enough! Curse you woman!

The other day I attempted to take some offending item from Buddy (like a shard of glass or a piece of plastic), and was pretty sure I got pimp slapped in the process. I can’t say for sure, because it was hard to concentrate above the snarls and growls coming out of the mouth of the meaty little midget.

Buddy guards my every move. I can’t go anywhere without little stomping footsteps following behind me to ensure that I don’t get too far out of earshot or visual range. I assume that Buddy’s version of ‘love’ – this suffocating, possessive thing we’ve got going on here. I also suppose it’s to make certain that I don’t leave him for so long a period again. The look in his eye is enough to make sure I don’t even contemplate it – because I’m fairly certain that the next evolution of Buddy is Chucky…and I can’t live with Chucky.