Dear son of mine,
Your given name might be Michael David but I am your mother and I will call you whatever the Hell I want. And I want to call you Davey Bear. It a right given to me by Mother Nature, who I think, when she is not raining Hell on my body, understands the types of things a mother goes through as her firstborn son grows up.
I love you more than anything else on the face of the planet but I cannot stand this age. Two was just fine and I thought somehow we might be able to skip to 10 years old and I wouldn't have to go through the painful process of your first day of school. Somehow we'd wake up and you'd just have been going for awhile and it would be nothing new. But no, next month you turn three and you are a holy terror and some days I am terrified of you and soon we will need to look for preschools.
This negotiation phase you are going through needs to stop. When I tell you to do something you should run up to me, kiss my cheek and say "Yes, ma'am." Then you should joyfully scamper off to do whatever it is that I, in my infinite wisdom, told you to do. I will accept that these past few weeks of you responding to my every request with "How about we...." were just a mistake and you will now go back to being perfect.
And another thing while we're talking about you being perfect. You are adorable and your butt is a mini replica of your father's and that never ceases to amuse me. However, you must start wearing pants on a regular basis. That includes underwear. We all know what you've got down there, you never miss an opportunity to point out that you do, indeed, have a penis and a butt. But not everyone in the free world cares to know about them, let alone see them, so please stop trying to show off your goods in the supermarket, Ikea, back of my work.
I am sure that you are also aware that you are not yet quite three. While I appreciate your independence and your willingness to play in your room and scribble on the walls with crayon so I can take a quick nap after you've been up all night singing Taylor Swift songs, you need to accept that I am your Mommy and it is my job to make you play with me. I know you have important things to build with your blocks but wouldn't it be nice if we just snuggled on the sofa and watched a movie about talking farm animals and heroic pig? I know if you would just give it a chance, you'd agree and we'd have fun and I wouldn't feel like you are already trying to leave me!
I know I said that I hate this age and these phases you are going through but every day when you grow up a little more my heart breaks a little more. I really just want you to go back to being a newborn and sleeping in a Moses Basket at the head of our bed. Oh, I wish I had appreciated those times more rather than worrying about silly things like if you were going to smother with your tiny stuffed penguin in there. I wish I had carried you in the sling more instead of putting you in the stroller. I'm sorry if that causes any intimacy issues when you're older because i promise I wasn't trying to 'push you away' from me, I was just insanely worried that the strap on the sling would somehow rip and you would fall onto the ground and suffer brain trauma and it would be all my fault because I couldn't figure out to wrap that damn sling around my torso correctly. You will never understand the irrational fears that go through a first time parent's mind until you are one yourself but I hope when you are older you will be able to make some sense of the crazy things I did purely out of love for you.
Because even on the bad days the one thing that never changes is that I love you more than anything and you will always be my baby bear.
Love always,
Mommy.
Your given name might be Michael David but I am your mother and I will call you whatever the Hell I want. And I want to call you Davey Bear. It a right given to me by Mother Nature, who I think, when she is not raining Hell on my body, understands the types of things a mother goes through as her firstborn son grows up.
I love you more than anything else on the face of the planet but I cannot stand this age. Two was just fine and I thought somehow we might be able to skip to 10 years old and I wouldn't have to go through the painful process of your first day of school. Somehow we'd wake up and you'd just have been going for awhile and it would be nothing new. But no, next month you turn three and you are a holy terror and some days I am terrified of you and soon we will need to look for preschools.
This negotiation phase you are going through needs to stop. When I tell you to do something you should run up to me, kiss my cheek and say "Yes, ma'am." Then you should joyfully scamper off to do whatever it is that I, in my infinite wisdom, told you to do. I will accept that these past few weeks of you responding to my every request with "How about we...." were just a mistake and you will now go back to being perfect.
And another thing while we're talking about you being perfect. You are adorable and your butt is a mini replica of your father's and that never ceases to amuse me. However, you must start wearing pants on a regular basis. That includes underwear. We all know what you've got down there, you never miss an opportunity to point out that you do, indeed, have a penis and a butt. But not everyone in the free world cares to know about them, let alone see them, so please stop trying to show off your goods in the supermarket, Ikea, back of my work.
I am sure that you are also aware that you are not yet quite three. While I appreciate your independence and your willingness to play in your room and scribble on the walls with crayon so I can take a quick nap after you've been up all night singing Taylor Swift songs, you need to accept that I am your Mommy and it is my job to make you play with me. I know you have important things to build with your blocks but wouldn't it be nice if we just snuggled on the sofa and watched a movie about talking farm animals and heroic pig? I know if you would just give it a chance, you'd agree and we'd have fun and I wouldn't feel like you are already trying to leave me!
I know I said that I hate this age and these phases you are going through but every day when you grow up a little more my heart breaks a little more. I really just want you to go back to being a newborn and sleeping in a Moses Basket at the head of our bed. Oh, I wish I had appreciated those times more rather than worrying about silly things like if you were going to smother with your tiny stuffed penguin in there. I wish I had carried you in the sling more instead of putting you in the stroller. I'm sorry if that causes any intimacy issues when you're older because i promise I wasn't trying to 'push you away' from me, I was just insanely worried that the strap on the sling would somehow rip and you would fall onto the ground and suffer brain trauma and it would be all my fault because I couldn't figure out to wrap that damn sling around my torso correctly. You will never understand the irrational fears that go through a first time parent's mind until you are one yourself but I hope when you are older you will be able to make some sense of the crazy things I did purely out of love for you.
Because even on the bad days the one thing that never changes is that I love you more than anything and you will always be my baby bear.
Love always,
Mommy.
No comments:
Post a Comment