Every week after our music class, Doodles and I go to our local hangout with a group of moms/toddlers. I almost always get myself something to drink and, now that my appetite has shot through the roof, an egg-and-cheese croissant sandwich. I got my order, plopped myself down on the couch while Doodles roamed and played with his friends. After a bit, he asked, “Up, please,” so I sat him next to me on the couch. Doodles loves drinking from straws. I had my drink resting on my leg, and that icy goodness had a pretty straw in it, so Doodles pulled my drink toward him. I’m a fairly nice mom, willing to share my cookies or my juice or water, so I helped him out, moving the straw toward his mouth, continuing my conversation with the mom sitting next to me. Doodles happily sipped away and it wasn’t until I saw the look of horror on another mom’s face that I realized what I was doing. I was letting Doodles have my drink. Of iced coffee. Whoops! I pulled it away, much to his distress, and appeased him with a cup of milk with a straw (which he doesn’t normally get at that hour), but still I was greatly disturbed at how much my nineteen-month-old son seemed to delight in the taste of coffee. Tomorrow I’m thinking about letting him take a drag off a cigarette.
Where to Find Me
Where to Find Me
Doodles is so lucky. Why can’t I have a Mom like his mom?
Signed, Pearl