Now, you are nine years old, a thumb-sucking 3rd grader. "I wanna walk, daddy!" you yell. Your father sets you down, and you waddle along with him, pigeon-toed. Drool drips down your chin; to counter this, your thumb impulsively breaks through the wall that is your lips, and you suck on it.
Moments later, your mother comes down the hall, carrying a diaper bag filled with Pampers, milk-filled bottles, and wipes, all while pushing a stroller. "How is my little baby boy doing? Did you make a stinky again? I smell a clean baby!"
You giggle excessively. "I make stinky, it make sound like tootie, and daddy gimme new diapee!"
"Good! Does my little 3rd grade baby want a strolly ride?"
"Yeah! Gimme strolly ride, mommy! Strolly ride, strolly ride!" Your mother lifts you up, placing you in the stroller and strapping you in. "We're gonna go to the beach now, honey, do you think that'll be fun?"
"Less go beach, mommy! I wanna swimmy!"
"Alright, baby, let's go!"
And off you went, peeing in your Huggies from excitement.