🍼 by James, Age: Just Baby Enough to Get Away With Everything

The sun set. Rules dissolved. And I arrived.

Mimi answered the door like a goddess in slippers. I made eye contact. She gasped—correctly—at my cuteness. Within moments, I was in her arms, the scent of lavender and rebellion wrapping around me.

Dinner? Optional.
Bedtime? A myth.
Cookies? Destiny.

She whispered, “Don’t tell Mommy,” like we were co-conspirators in a heist. She handed me a warm chocolate chip cookie with the seriousness of a knight presenting a sacred relic. I took it. I smooshed it. I ate half and distributed crumbs like offerings to the laminate flooring.

We made art. On the couch. With yogurt. I climbed furniture. I watched six episodes of Bluey and called it “meditation.”

At 8:13 PM, Mimi said it was “just between us.” I was already eating cookie number four. I grinned. I hadn’t been bathed, brushed, or spiritually grounded in hours. I was a lawless prince and this was my kingdom.

Papa tried to intervene once.

“He’s supposed to be in bed.”
Mimi gave him the Look™. He retreated to the kitchen silence.

And the best part?

Mimi held me against her chest and said, “You are so loved.”

Louder than usual. Louder than necessary. I absorbed it like sunshine. I knew it. Felt it in my baby toes. This woman would give me the moon—and a fifth cookie if I asked nicely.

I may be small. But in Mimi’s house?

I rule.