My Baby.

I have totally coddled Charlie. I've been treating him like he's perpetually two years old or something. Charlie even classifies himself as a baby.  But no...he'll be four in September. 

Some of my excessive pampering, I believe, is partially because of his speech delay. But now that he's starting to become more verbal and able to use his words, I'm realizing just how smart and capable he is. 

This kid knows exactly what's going on.

Last night, a commercial came on for this silly Pocket Pal thing. Charlie began jumping up and down insisting that he wants "needs" one. Jimmy, in a rightfully harsh tone, said, "Well, if you even want us to think about getting you one of those, you better start cleaning stuff up around here first."

I chuckled under my breath. Because Mommy knows just how impossible that is. I mean, our "baby"--he doesn't even know how to clean anything. After all, he's a master mess maker.

Then all of a sudden, a miracle happened in front of my unsuspecting eyes. Charlie sprung up from the couch, and magically began putting his toys away. And then he began picking up our throw pillows and putting them back on the couch--the same pillows he typically hurls off the couch on a daily basis. Today he was even at the kitchen sink attempting to hand wash the dishes and sweeping the floors because our house is "yuck yuck."

Yeah...this little stinker's been playing me like a fiddle.

Game on, baby-no-more. And the anti's been upped: Cleaner house. Plus potty training. Equals Pocket Pal.

Bring it, Char Char. And you might just get two Pocket Pals before it's all over.