I’m providing direct proof of how much trouble I’m about to be in as my daughter gets older. Right now she is 22 months old. I took her with me to go shopping and pulled into a parking spot in front of DSW, a shoe store.
Brie: No mommy.
Me: No? No what?
Brie: No mommy, other one.
Me: Other one what? Another store?
Brie: Yes mommy, other one.
Me: What store do you want to go to?
Brie: Cute…shirt. Pink. Brie-Brie
Me: (smirking) You want to go to a different store to get a cute pink shirt?
Brie: Yes mommy. Shirt, Brie-Brie, Pink!
Me: And it has to be pink?
Brie: Yes mommy. (starts patting her chest with both hands to emphasize her need for a cute pink shirt.) Pink shirt, Brie-Brie. No shoes. No mommy shoes.