The Stories of our Lives

Transl. “Our very own Peter Pan”

I can recognize a sweet deal when I have it in front of me.

If I continue progressing toward adulthood like I’ve been doing for the last two years, I’m going to have to handle all sorts of complicated stuff. Eventually, I’ll even have to learn maths and cook dinner and fill out tax forms. It’s going to get ugly.

Turning around the other way, there’s my baby sister. She’s got five star service on a silver platter – she’s getting dressed, fed, washed and wiped by other people; the only effort she has to put in is for playtime.

So I’ve decided to stop growing up for a while. I play it cool at daycare – no milk bottles, no pacifier, no help to get my shoes off, etc. – but I don’t want things to change at home. When I’m here, I’ll be a baby like my sister. This is why I’m being reluctant to learning new skills, like getting dressed, washing up, using the potty… Far easier if my parents do it for me. I’m also hanging on to my bottles of warm milk, my pacifier and my doggy; all of those are tearfully requested in the event of daily frustrations and boo-boos.

I think mom is onto me, though, because the “big boy” term is starting to come up pretty often at playtime. Suddenly, my pirates are all talking about going to pee in the pot, Elmo refuses bottles and requests a glass while we’re playing picnic, there are library books about getting dressed laying around… I don’t know where this is all going, but I just know there’s a catch.

Mom is sneaky that way.

- Xavier