An Open Letter to My Child

Dear Shortpants,

You are loud. You are (currently) stinky. You flap and squawk and stomp and knock stuff over and watch things eleventybillion times and refuse to take your medicine or eat anything that doesn't come out of a box.

I love you.

You don't sleep worth a crap. You are whiny. Not Calliou-whiny (Good LORD, I think his parents must be on drugs or deaf, because that shit just, yeah... no.) but whiny, nonetheless. You can clear a room with one little tiny turd. I have peanut butter and jelly smears all over my curtains.

I am proud of you.

You don't use silverware. Not quite ready for a cup without a lid. You'll eat tapioca, fig newtons, cheese cubes and Doritos by the pallet, but not the ends of hot dogs. You think butterscotch pudding is a food group. You (currently) abhor wearing pants, including pullups.

I am constantly amazed by you.

You either don't want to take a bath, or you never want to get out. You think my bed is a trampoline. You won't eat popsicles or ice cream. I'm waiting for the results on the DNA test to make sure you're mine for that reason alone. You have a bajillion toys that you won't play with, but you'll watch the same youtube clip a thousand times.

It is an honor to be your mama.

You think my toothbrush is yours. You can't sleep without a pacifer in your mouth and one in your hand. You leave the refrigerator door open. You have selective hearing. You look at most things with a sense of indifference that is fascinating and infuriating. You'd rather play in the street than in the sandbox. You scrunch up your face so that I can't see your gorgeous eyes when you see the camera flash.

My life would be empty without you.

You hug tightly. You smile brightly. Your laughter equals angels singing. Your facial expressions make it so hard to consistently discipline you because I'm stifling laughter. You smell like lavender, when you have clean pants, that is. Your head fits perfectly into my neck. Your snore is adorable. Your hand was meant to be in mine. You love fiercely. Your people are YOURS. You are braver than I would have ever imagined. You are beyond smart, and even though you can't speak, I am kinda positive you can read. You give my life meaning. You are FULL of JOY. You were meant to be my kid, just like I was meant to be your mama, and I thank God for you every fucking day.

You are loved. So very much.

Now get back here so I can change your pants and don't you dare stick your fingers in your...*sigh*... wanna take a bath?

Love,
Mama