This story happened a while ago when my husband was trying to reengage his maternal family with whom he had little contact due to the demands of his hateful mother shortly after her passing. We had invited his cousin and their family to our house for a small get-together. We were both a little apprehensive since it had been so long since my husband had seen them.

His cousin has two sons. One was just under two years old and the other was seven. At this time, my daughter would have been roughly six months old. When they arrived, we left my daughter lying in her playpen while we answered the door and did the usual greetings. Their eldest son apparently didn’t approve of this.

Son: “I thought you had a baby?”

Me: “Oh, yes, she is lying down over there.”

Son: “Oh, can I go see her?”

Me: “She’s very tiny. She can’t really play.”

Cousin: “Oh, he knows. He adores little kids and babies. He was so excited when I told them you had a daughter. He’s going to be begging to do everything with her. Please feel free to tell him if there is anything you’re not comfortable with, though.”

Even as she said this, [Son] had run over to the playpen and was now sitting on the ground right outside of it, playing with my daughter through the mesh side of the pen.

It didn’t take long for him to come back begging to hold our daughter. I was a first-time mom and a bit overly protective, so I was a little apprehensive about trusting my daughter to a kid so young. Still, after making sure he had sat down on a couch to minimize dropping risk, I set her in his arms. He looked excited and immediately started making cute faces at her and playing with her.

Cousin: “I’m pretty sure you just made his day.”

[Son] held my daughter for over half an hour, only reluctantly giving her back when his brother toddled up and demanded they play together.

Later, when I put my daughter down for some tummy time, [Son] laid down beside her to play with her more, even “guarding” her to make sure his brother didn’t accidentally step on her in his play. And when it came time to feed her, [Son] immediately showed up begging to be the one to feed her.

Me: “I know you said he liked babies, but I have to admit I wasn’t expecting him to be this committed to her.”

Cousin: “Yeah, I know, he’s a bit obsessed, but I figure there are worse things to insist on than taking care of people.”

Me: “It’s not just his liking kids; he’s good with her! I’d never have guessed a kid that young would know how to be that good with a baby.”

Cousin: “It comes from lots of practice. He begs anyone with a baby to let him ‘help’ them. And when he can’t find an actual baby, he will break out his dolls or make [Younger Sibling] play as his baby instead.”

At that point, [Son] had just emptied the jar of baby food he was feeding [Daughter] and done a passably decent job cleaning her up.

Son: “[Daughter] is done eating, but she needs to be changed. Want me to change her? I change [Younger Brother’s] diapers sometimes.”

Cousin: “What kind of diaper is it?”

[Son] responded reluctantly as if he had been caught in a lie.

Son: “Poopy.”

Cousin: “What he fails to mention is that we generally only let him change pee diapers to avoid any accidental messes.”

Me: “Well, sounds like a no from mom, but tell you what. You can come help me change her, assuming mom’s okay with any, err… inevitable anatomy lessons?”

Cousin: “Oh, that won’t be a problem. She’s hardly the first little girl he’s asked to help change.”

He joined me at the changing tables to hand over wipes and baby powder as requested while informing me, quite seriously, that he knew it was important to make sure you clean inside the vagina and not just the vulva to avoid infection, even if he hadn’t gotten a chance to practice that particular skill yet.

The only time [Son] wasn’t doting on my daughter the whole visit was during her nap, at which point his younger brother got all the attention and care my daughter had previously been monopolizing.

His mother admitted that he was a great help with his brother, but she also confessed the downside to his baby obsession.

Cousin: “He’s been begging [Cousin’s Husband] and me to give him a new sibling for at least a year now. If he had his way, we would pop out a new kid every year so he never ran out of babies to play with.”

Once our visit was over, the boy started asking when they could come to visit next so he could play with our daughter more. He got his wish there, and we did many more visits with them. In fact, he ultimately proved pervasive enough to get that baby sibling he was always begging for.

Years later, he now babysits our daughters for us, and they all adore him. He will be an amazing father one day.

CONTENT WARNING: Blood

My daughter has always had a big personality for being six. Recently, she has been suffering from badly chapped lips. I’ve been putting everything I can on them to help, but over the weekend, they were cracking and bleeding just a tad. I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, and this gem of a scenario played out.

[Daughter] ran up to me excitedly, a little blood dribbling down her chin.

Daughter: “Mom! Look! I’m a vampire!” 

Me: *Holding back laughter* “Please go wipe your face, sweetie.” 

Daughter: “But vampires don’t wipe their faces!” 

Me: “Well, do you want everyone to know that you’re a vampire?” 

She mulled it over while narrowing her eyes at me.

Daughter: “I guess not…”

Never a dull moment with this kid, I swear!

I bought a dress for my four-year-old daughter. It has pockets. All other “pockets” her clothes have had were just sewn on for aesthetics, so this is the first time she’s ever seen functional pockets.

Daughter: *Peeking into the pockets* “Mom, what’s this?”

Me: “Those are pockets. You put stuff in them.”

She looks at me like I just said something ridiculous.

Daughter: “…like candy?”

Me: “Sure.”

I grab a piece of candy that happens to be nearby and drop it into her pocket. She looks into the pocket and sees the candy sitting comfortably inside.

HER FACE LIGHTS UP! This is a mind-blowing discovery.

Daughter: *Excitedly* “And toys?”

Me: “Yes. Anything small you can put in there.”

She ran into the toy room and grabbed random things to stuff into her pockets. She came out after a couple of minutes with a triumphant smile on her face, pockets bulging with a bunch of cars and Pokemon.

Since then, every time she gets dressed, she asks, “Is there pockets?”

Before my sister was born, my parents found a kitten. They decided to keep it because they could find no owner. They named her Princess. My sister is four years older than I am, so we both grew up with this cat. She’d sometimes follow us and watch over us. My parents used to make jokes about how she thought of us as her kittens.

Now, my sister wasn’t very nice to me. It took a lot of people a lot of time to realise she wasn’t just nasty; it was full-on abuse and bullying.

When I was too young to understand what was happening, I used to talk to Princess. She was like my version of a diary; I’d sit with this creature that was older than I was and tell her all my problems.

One day at a store, my mum told us she’d buy us each a lolly. My sister wanted a different one than I did, and she grabbed my arm and clawed her nails down it so hard it drew blood. It hurt a lot, and I was really upset. When we got home, I went and cried to Princess about how scared I’d felt. After a while, I calmed down and went and played with my toys. Princess ambled out of the room.

A few minutes later, I heard a shriek, and Princess ambled back in. It turned out that she’d walked up and scratched my sister’s hand and then hissed at her before coming back to sit with me and watch over me playing with my toys.

My parents assume that my sister provoked her, but I know. She walked out of the room right after I’d been talking to her, and she walked in right after the shriek. I can’t prove it, but I think Princess saw how scared I was and showed me that she’d protect me.

I’ve never told anybody about my white and grey guardian apart from my current cat. I haven’t thought about Princess in a while. She lived to be around twenty, depending on how old she was when my parents got her. I loved that cat. Funnily enough, my new cat was originally my sister’s. She got him and then left him with my parents, and he slowly became mine. He likes to sit with me more than he likes her.

My cat is diabetic. My uncle is also diabetic, type one. This is the first time my uncle is visiting since my cat’s diagnosis.

Uncle: “A diabetic cat. A diabetic freakin’ cat.”

Me: “I know; it must be so silly from your perspective.”

Uncle: *Laughs* “Pardon my language, but it’s dumb as s***. What kind of world is it when a cat gets diabetes?”

Me: “And you wanna know the worst part?”

Uncle: “What?”

Me: “With enough time and insulin, the vet said it could be reversed.”

Uncle: *Glaring at the cat* “Lucky son of a b****.”