“You will always be my baby/And we’ll linger on/Cause
time can’t erase a feeling this strong/No, you’re never gonna shake me/Oooh,
cause you’ll always be my baby,” I sang to my baby, as I rocked her in my arms.
"When I turn five, I won’t be your baby anymore,” she
declared, ruining the moment.
“When you’re five, you’ll still be my baby.”
“When I turn eighteen, I won’t be your baby.”
“When you turn eighteen, you will still my baby.”
"When I a mommy, I won’t be your baby.”
“When you’re a mommy, when you have grandchildren and are
a Oma, you will still be my baby. You
will always be my baby.”
And since she couldn’t top that, the conversation
ended. She laid her head back on my
shoulder and I sang my beloved Mariah Carey chorus again to her as I rubbed her
back and nuzzled her, my baby.
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