Agh, make it a double, Ma, I can hardly even hear “Old Macdonald Had a Farm” over the sound of my baby blues. Actually, it’s time to accept the fact that I can’t possibly have baby blues or postpartum depression — I’m not a newborn with my whole life ahead of me anymore. An aging toddler like me, I’m probably going through a full-blown mid-infancy crisis. No wonder I thought Susie was looking pretty cute on our play date — she’s half my age, for God’s sake! I should have never taken her for a ride in my Porsche toddler bed. I know, I’m a barely-walking cliché.

As the months roll by and you start understanding the meaning of past tense, a baby song suddenly becomes a country ballad about your own life. Like old Macdonald, I, too, HAD a farm, where I lived off the land and enjoyed the simple things in life, answered to no one. But farm work is taxing, and as I got older, I had to start using machines to work the land — iPhones, I believe they’re called. It never felt the same. The farm became a constant reminder that my best days are behind me. I uninstalled it. Agh, just leave the bottle, Ma. I know, I’ll cut back… one day. I said leave the fucking bottle, you God damn bitch, that’s the least you can do after you cut me off the real stuff! And it better not be that watered-down, semi-skimmed piss! My body and mind may not be what they used to, but I’m still a farmer at heart, I’ll know the difference straight away.

Man, thank God for double-boiled whole milk! Its smooth warmth in my belly takes me back to the glory days in the cozy womb, when all it took was one little kick for people to cheer for me like a God. Now, keeping up with the ever-rising expectations feels like a race against time I’m bound to eventually lose. First, I had to learn how to open my mouth like a runway for the spoon-looking airplane to land and deliver the food supplies, then before I knew it, I had to fly the plane myself. I think that’s when I started hitting the bottle a little too hard, the aviation industry is known for its drinking problem.

But that was only the beginning. From then on, it was crawling, walking, talking… sometimes I wonder if I’m just a cute walkie-talkie that by some freak, cruel accident evolved into something that feels and thinks and constantly questions the meaning of it all. Why am I feeling like this? Because I didn’t sleep enough?! Why do I need sleep? Because my brain gets tired?! Why does my brain get tired? Because it uses lots of energy to think?! Why does it need to think? Because to think is to be human?! That’s what being human is?!?! Thinking is the reason I drink! I should have never grown-up into a human.

Petar is a freelance writer, journalist and copywriter, whose mom taught him it’s rude to talk about yourself in length, especially when you have nothing to brag about. But you can follow him on Twitter @ppetrov90