Mama Bean is powerless. Life has come full circle.

Bean is the most powerful person I know. His wish is our command. When he is hungry, he is fed. When he pees and poops in his pants, he is changed. When he smells, we bathe him. When he is tired, he is wrapped up snuggly and nestled in his bed. When he cries, he is comforted and cuddled. When he smiles, or blinks, or breathes he is loved.

Sure, he is tiny and immobile, seemingly weak. But that's almost part of his power, his seeming utter dependence. Because we are subject to him, we are subject to his every whim. He gets carried everywhere! That's like ancient kings carted through the dirty masses shit right there! The last time I was treated like that was, well, when I was a baby.

It's all downhill for him, of course. The bigger he gets, the more he learns, the more responsibility he acquires. He has to stop shitting his pants, for one thing. Learn to bathe and dress himself. Make his bed. Cook his food, and clean up afterward. Get good grades, and get a job. Fall in love, and make his own babies one day.

And then he'll be in my position. Powerless. And that baby will be the most powerful person he knows. Full circle.

One could argue that, when I get old, I will regain some of this power. I will be fed, and bathed, and tucked into bed. I will get to poop wherever I like, though I won't like it. And nobody's going to think it's cute when I blink.