A Mother's Day Letter
In honor of Mother’s Day I wanted to share a letter one of my kids wrote to my wife. I found this in-no-way-fabricated-at-all letter lying on the dresser next to the 20-month-old’s crib. She has surprisingly good penmanship for a 1-year-old.
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry I bit
you. Again. I imagine while breast feeding me in the middle of the night is not
your favorite time to be bitten. If you let me know when the best time is, in
the future, I’ll try to limit my biting to those hours.
Also, sorry about
the whole crying all the time and intermittent hunger strikes. This teething
business is the worst and half the time eating anything hurts so I don’t want
to do it. Well, anything except ice cream. It always feels good on my gums so
that’s why I will lick it straight off the floor if a brother spills it. Don’t
judge me. The molars made me do it.
I really don’t
mean to cause you trouble. Most of the time. When you say don’t play with the
markers and I sneakily get one and color on the wall anyway then, I have to
admit, I do mean to cause trouble. I’m not sure why. Probably the molars.
But when I got the
container of cinnamon and dusted the hallways with it, I really thought I was
doing you a favor. I mean, it smells nice and have you smelled the hall? It
smells a lot like boys.
Despite all the
trouble and difficulties I may cause you, you’re still my most favorite person
in the world. I don’t see Dad as much as I see you, so sometimes it seems like
I’m more excited to see him but you know that’s not true. No one makes my face
light up the way you do when you come into the room.
Not even the word
bath does -- and you know how excited I get about those. If I don’t see your
face for even a few minutes I start to get anxious. This, by the way, is why I
prefer to accompany you into the restroom. I understand your visit there has
other purposes but I like to pretend we’re in our secret room hiding from the
boys.
We sure are
outnumbered. That may be one of the reasons I want you to pick me up and hold
me so often. We have to stick together.
I don’t say this
enough, mostly because I’m still learning to talk, but I love you. You’re the
best mom and I’d be helpless without you.
Please keep that
in mind because, as I finish this letter, I see that it’s 2:27 a.m. and that
means I’m about to start calling for you. The molars are acting up again. Plus,
I want to make sure we’re sticking together and in the middle of the night we
don’t even have to hide in the bathroom.
See you soon.