Sorry Future Baby Rangirl. Any future ailments can probably be traced back to me. Your love for video games at 5AM before even putting on presentable pants. The need for constant reassurance from society that your jokes are funny. The disdain for people eating their four-course meals on the train. Is your future sibling as messed up as his/her dad too? My bad.

Instead of being a parent we’d choose the camera first to snap the precious moments of you being yourself, rather than whipping you into shape. To the untrained parent, the below just looks like you testing the limitations of your limbs:

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In reality, this is probably the reason why you fear tiny wicker baskets and their claustrophobic tendencies.

And then your possible future hate for peanut butter. Like your mother. It was after a trip to the city when you were super cranky and I just wanted to calm you down after you finally got a nap in. So I went to get a smoothie with the intention of sharing it with you while we wait for the train back to Long Island.

“Look at her enjoy the smoothie!” I boasted to Mommy Ranman as Baby Rangirl and I returned to the waiting area. You took the biggest sips of that smoothie, little munchkin.

“Nice,” your mother said, unimpressed after the exhausting trip to the city.

“Yup. Got her a peanut butter and jelly oh my god she isn’t supposed have peanut butter until she’s 2 years old and now I’m the most horrible father ever!!!!” You can imagine my lack of concern to correct my real-time run on sentence.

“Oh my goodness what’s wrong with you?!?” Mommy Ranman exclaimed in a way that almost said “what else is new, you loser?”

That said, thankfully you didn’t seem phased by the peanut butter. If anything you were jonesing for another fix while you gazed longingly at the straw which led the way to your gateway drug. You could be allergic to peanut butter but at the time I couldn’t tell because your cheeks are oh-so-chunky by default.

The 2010’s were an experimental time for people anyway. Dabbling in healthy protein peanut butter smoothies, tripping balls and picking at the grass as you proceeded to do often…a decade of sin.

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