Yuppie Babies Drive to IKEA

I'm raising a yuppie child. I'm not doing it on purpose, I promise. Even admitting it here feels like maybe I belong in the basement of the Unitarian church in an obscure 12-step meeting. Sometimes I wonder whether I should try to correct course but most of the time I'm just fine with it. There are worse fates than yuppie, right?

I suppose we don't help matters when we read her things like Foodie Babies Wear Bibs. There's a whole series of them, each rather delicious. I giggle with delight and put them under her nose and frankly, she doesn't stand a chance.

Here are a few sentences I heard from her yesterday - words that would have been completely foreign in my own (distinctly non-yuppie, even though the word hadn't been invented yet) childhood.

"I'm going to IKEA. I have a GPS so I don't need directions. The GPS will tell the car where to go." And while she's driving she'll most likely listen to NPR. Yep, that's my kid.