I wondered how long it would take, reaching the gimme stage.  Two years, seven months, and one day.  I picked Robbie up at daycare this afternoon, and he was in dire need of an apple.  His third of the day.  That was when I heard it for the first time.  “Gimme apple, ‘Neanne.”  Not even a please crossed his lips.

And then again, in the car.  “Gimme chocolate, Mom.”

This could be the start of something terrible.  I didn’t give him anything until he asked the right way, but I don’t have a good feeling about this…


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