Dear Mama, Let’s Talk About Me.Posted: July 19, 2013
Let’s talk about me, shall we? I gotta be honest, ever since you calmed down with the whole “Down syndrome” thing, I feel like I’m not getting nearly as much attention as I should have. I mean, I guess you’re doing all this “advocacy” stuff, but honesty, that looks suspiciously similar to when you say you’re hanging out with your new online mama friends. Just sayin’. I don’t mind being a supernatural-angel-gift-from-God if that means I get all your attention. Wink, wink.
I’m getting big. I’m sticking to my percentiles like a good little barnacle. I am eating three meals a day, and that seems to make me a little constipated, nothing a little extra fruit and coconut oil can’t fix. I’m grabbing my feet,
spitting in people’s faces blowing raspberries, and laughing (but you gotta work hard for that, I don’t give laughs for free). I just recently regained the ability to roll from front to back (I’d lost it because I started doing a super bendy froggy leg move that stopped me from rolling when I was doing tummy time. I’m very bendy. I’m going to rock at yoga.) But really, I dislike rolling in general. I like stability. Who doesn’t? Why would I want to go rolling around and hitting my head all the time? Chipmunk does that and it looks ridiculous. She cries. Every. Time. Hello, sister. Stop bashing around and you won’t get hurt. Sheesh.
I know you’re taking me to get another sleep study. I’ll remind you that I was not a fan of that whole thing. Now that I’ve figured out how these arms and hands work, don’t think I’m going to go down easy. Civil disobedience, baby. Yeah, yeah, you’re not the government. Big diff.
So life around here is pretty good, huh? I yell, you feed me. I poop, you wipe my butt. I smile, you smile. When they’re not using me like a doll, my sisters are alright. I think the little one is funny, but I feel safer around the big one. For how funny the little one is, she’s a little unpredictable. My reaction time isn’t that swift yet, ya know? I’m working on it, but in the meantime, I make a formal request for a little more interference.
Is it time for more milk? My diaper is dirty.
The Little Pirate