Foiled!

Day by day, I'm foiling my own plan. Which was to ruin Cameron for any other woman, have him live with us well into his forties, whilst supporting us from our basement via some Internet money-making endeavor.

Yet I continue to give him the tools he will need to leave me. Take tonight, for instance. After pooping on his potty (it is once again en vogue) and rubbing some amount of soap on himself in the shower, he indicated he wanted to sleep in his bed, not his crib. And there he stayed.

All this independence at 19 months doesn't suit me. At the park today, we met this little boy the exact same age, down to the day. While he sat playing quietly by his mom, Cam sprinted away repeatedly. After the ball, the bird, the dog, down the stairs, for no reason. Bah!

If this is now, what happens at 19 years? I ask you. If you could let me know, that'd be cool. Because apparently I'm also going to need to find an alternate source of income in my twilight years.