I cannot be stopped.

You see this picture?
You may ask yourself, what is so special about this picture, oh Great One?

What do you see?
A couch. Ugly.
A basket. Filled with delightful toys and gifts from my loyal subjects.
Colored squares on the floor. To protect the Waakabee's hands and knees during my mob-ex (mobility exercises).
A framework. The lower half of my elevated eating throne.
A cute baby. Damn straight.
A cute baby holding a sippy cup.
A cute baby holding a sippy cup.
A CUTE BABY HOLDING A SIPPY CUP.

Liquid nutrition! Dispensed at my own pace and in an amount of my choosing!

I am capable of feeding myself! No longer will I rely on my parents or surrogates holding a bottle for me! No more rubber nipples. Except after I turn 18, and then only when the mood strikes and I have enough cash. From now on, I will carry my sippy with me and drink as I see fit. MLB and MRB closed a long time ago, and I had to accept the change to a bottle. Now I cast that anchor aside, and the soy hippy organic leftist liquid fed to me, and can drink god's sweet nectars - apple juice, fruit punch, 7up, grape juice... there is no limit!

The Waakabee is now on the fast track to cutting all ties to his infant life and nutrition shall be dispensed at my will!

The greatest of plans is unfolding and I am more than happy to say, gimme that sippy, bitches.
That is all...