This morning I was rinsing mushy milk-sogged pieces of Life cereal down the drain and glanced over at Merritt in the living room just as Troy informed me in A Very Loud Voice that, “MAMA! Bubs is gettin’ into your COFFEE!”

So I looked. And he was.

The child was holding my pretty Thomas Kinkade mug between his dimpled little hands and was downing–CHUGGING I’m telling you–the coffee. He seriously cried when I took it away. Like his heart was breaking.

Of course, if someone took away MY coffee in the morning, I might cry too. But, you know. He hasn’t yet become addicted to it.

I blame this entirely on his 18-year-old uncle who apparently (and unbeknownst to The Mama, I must add) gave Bubs his first taste of coffee when the child was scarcely old enough to hold a sippy cup.

But hey, at least that first time it was Starbucks. He’ll have a taste for overpriced coffee the rest of his born days.

One good thing: I don’t have to worry much about his growth being stunted, being that the same uncle used to sneak coffee any chance he got when he was little and is now a few inches over six feet tall. Eh, I don’t foresee a problem.

But STILL. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s about done nursing? All I know is that I’m not too eager to hand my 16-month-old over to the nursery workers at the gym or at church when he has, you know, COFFEE BREATH.

Anyway, I had about ten zillion other things to say this morning, but, sadly (I’m pretending I don’t hear your collective sigh of relief) I have to run.

Literally.

I’m heading over to the gym today because I’m leaving for Washington in exactly five days a friend’s wedding and, hello?, what girl doesn’t want to lose twenty pounds in a week when she’s going to be spending a weekend with a bunch of girls who (all but one) haven’t had children?

Exactly.

So I’m off to the gym.

And I might swing through Starbucks afterward for a non-fat misto with three pumps of white mocha. I’m wondering what I should order for Merritt.

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