I’m not sure how to break this to you, but I’ve recently learned that I’m being replaced.
Okay, technically not replaced. More like… demoted. Phased out. Bumped from top billing.
It started with the stroller. One day, it wasn’t there. The next, it was in the basement. MY basement. I thought maybe we were going on a new kind of walk – one where I get wheeled around like royalty. Turns out, it’s not for me. It’s for the baby.
Yes. A baby. A human one. Arriving in January, according to my sources.
Now, let’s get one thing straight: I am the baby. I have been since day one. I require cuddles. I demand attention. I have a room in this house, or at least, I had a room. It’s been casually referred to as “Mack’s Room” for years. Apparently it’s being turned into a nursery. A “multi-use” space, they say. I see through the lies.
At first, I wasn’t thrilled. The vibe around here has changed. There’s lots of talk about “adjusting” and “preparing” and “you’re still our first baby, Mack.” Right.
Who even is this tiny person, and do they know how to throw a ball?
But I’ve also noticed something else. Mom’s been moving a little slower, which means more time for cuddling on the couch. Dad’s been extra generous with the snacks. And both of them keep looking at me like I’m already part of something big, even if I haven’t figured out exactly what yet.
So yeah. I’ve got feelings. Snarky ones. But I’m coming around.
And while I may never fully understand why someone would voluntarily trade belly rubs for diaper duty, I can tell my parents are excited. Like, heart-explodey excited. And if there’s one thing I care about, it’s their happiness. (Also cheese. But mostly their happiness.)
So here’s where I land: I’m in. Begrudgingly. With conditions.
I will protect this baby. I will supervise tummy time. I will share my parents, but not my spot on the couch. (Okay, maybe just a little corner.)
I may not be the baby anymore… but I’ve got a new job now. Big brother. Head of security. Floor cleaner. Assistant to the Assistant Nursery Manager.
January is going to be weird. And loud. And probably a little smelly. But I think it’s going to be good, too.
So welcome, little one. Whenever you decide to show up, I’m ready. I’ve got long legs for standing guard, webbed toes for future swimming lessons, and a heart bigger than my bark.
Also, don’t worry. I don’t shed. You’re welcome.
Lovingly (and reluctantly) promoted,
Mack
