Dear Mama: The Good and the Bad

Dear Mama,

Yes, LP here.  I think it is really sort of unfair that I’m completely dependent on you to write my letters for me.  I mean, you’re writing a letter to yourself, from me, but you’re not me.  Does that strike you as problematic?  Just sayin’.

The good stuff or the bad stuff first?  Good stuff?  Ok.

I mean, how cute are we??? Nevermind that we ate those crackers on your bed while you were in the bathroom.  Just remember, enjoy the cuteness.

I mean, how cute are we??? Nevermind that we ate those crackers on your bed while you were in the bathroom. Just remember, enjoy the cuteness.

You’re doing alright.  As in, I know that you spend a lot of time worrying about us, and thinking about our futures, but try not to go too far.  Because let’s be real here—we’re not likely to appreciate all the stuff you do for us until maybe twenty years from now.  And that is being optimistic.  You’re in it for the long game, mama.  Before long, my sissies and I will be self-centered, hormonal, young people who are too busy figuring out their own crap to stop and appreciate what went into getting us there.  Plus, some of the crap we’ll be busy trying to figure out will be from you (just being real again).  Seriously, it’ll all work out, promise.

How do I know that we’ll become too busy to notice you?  Because look at Mouse and Chipmunk, they’ve already started!  They’re too busy in their imaginary lands and dealing with their dramas to even notice you lately!  They notice me puuulenty though.  Have you seen how often I have to play the evil pirate, or they end up making me into the pet dog/cat/rabbit?  It’s just not dignified.

Don't make me do this again.  Seriously.

Don’t make me do this again. Seriously.

Another good thing, life seems good right now.  You’re not taking me to any more sleep studies, because my sleep apnea is now mild (I told you so).  The whole homeschooling thing is looking good.  I can tell you and dad are dreaming and talking about the future, and that looks good too.  Mouse and Chipmunk are awesome (let’s just pretend that this is more often than not for the sake of this cute letter).  Me?  I won’t brag here, but let’s just say that I’m on top of things.  That poop?  It gets pooped.  That box of stuff?  It gets emptied.  That silence?  It gets filled with yelling sweet babbles.  All thanks to yours truly.  You’re very welcome, mama, it is really good to know that all my hard work doesn’t go unnoticed!

Ok.  Now.  I’ve got some, um… constructive feedback for you.  This bed/sleep situation.  Come on.  That bed has no boobs, no cuddles, no parents to kick in my sleep, no sleeping noses to pick when I wake up.  WTF, right?  Why would I want to sleep in there?  What’s worse, you put me in those sleep sack thingies, and they get all twisted up while I’m rolling around yelling my head off for you to let me into your bed.  Look.  You and dad are sleeping on that nice memory foam pad, with the down comforter, and all you give me is a sleep sack???  I already gave up most of my nursing at night.  I object.

I know that I slept through the night at two months, blah blah blah.  Let’s remember, though, that my thyroid didn’t work so well back then.  I mean, I’m just trying to recapture the quintessential baby experience.  Yelling, and seeing the horrified look on your tired face as you come and bring me to your soft, warm, wonderful bed.  Listening to you and dad argue in the middle of the night about what to do about me.  Sitting triumphantly on your head with a dirty diaper, each morning I manage to wheedle my way into bed with you.  Are you truly going to deny me this?  What kind of mother are you?

Ok, sorry.  Maybe that went a little too far.  Just ride it out, ok?  I’ll probably get over it.  Like in a couple of years.  Maybe five.  Ten, maaax.

Let’s talk about that therapist.  I know she comes over to watch me do stuff.  I know y’all have discussed me crawling differently.  Something about crawling and brain development.  Check it—there is no way you’re going to get me to do something I don’t want to do!  Just because I have this sweet disposition doesn’t mean that I won’t put my foot down.  And it is down, mama.  I will play with her awesome toys.  I will “talk” to her.  I will even let her hold me, because I happen to like her.  I might even high five her every now and then.  That’s it, though.  I crawl the way I do because it works, dagnabbit.

Last but not least, let’s talk about baths.  I.  Will.  Never.  Like.  Baths.

Nevah evah.

I know you think I’ll get used to them because all my baby friends have.  When I’m a teenager and I’m begging you for some expensive gadget because all my friends have them I’m pretty sure you’ll say something about me not being the same as my friends.  Yup.  Touche.  You’d think that because I was born in the caul, I’d have some kind of affinity for water.  Yeah, I know, that confuses me too.  I have no explanation; I am what I am.

Just a cute picture of me in a box.  Notice, I'm smiling, and I'm not in a bath.

Just a cute picture of me in a box. Notice, I look happy, and I’m not in a bath.

So, mama, that is my letter to you.  A wee snapshot of what life is like in my brain after 14 months of life.  Except it is your brain.  Pretending to be my brain.  You really should think about that stuff I said in the first paragraph.  Mwah.

Love,

LP

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