Baby’s First Date. Kate Drove.

“He wanted to eat a raccoon’s eye. I said yes. That’s love.”

Sis is deep in her threenager era. Tantrums, dramatics, full attitude, and zero remorse. So when Mamaw volunteered to babysit whatever entity is currently possessing my sweet niece, I grabbed Bubs and escaped.

He’s not even two yet, but apparently he’s got plans.

Stop one: Starbucks. “Raccoon cake pop,” he says. “Eat his eye.”

Done. No hesitation.

Stop two: the car wash. He’s strapped into his seat, frosting still on his cheek, vibing. The brushes start spinning and he screams “JELLY FISH!” at the top of his lungs. He’s cackling, dancing, absolutely unhinged. Ten out of ten spiritual experience.

Stop three: the bridge. His favorite spot. We walk across, talk about the water, and he swears he sees whales down there. I don’t correct him. If he sees whales, we see whales. Then comes the yeeting ceremony. Rocks, sticks, whatever he can find. YEET! “More,” he says. Always more.

Stop four: Freddy’s. Because fries are religion. He eats them like a man who can finally enjoy his snacks... for once.

By the time we get home, he’s covered in gray frosting and joy. Mamaw looks like she’s aged five years with Sis, but Bubs and I? We’re thriving.

Auntie and Bubs: 1

Sis’s demonic phase: 0