Often times, I see these "open letters" floating around cyber world. By definition, an open letter is "addressed to a particular person or group of people but intended for general readership." Basically, you're writing to a person but often times the whole public will see it before the letter's recipient ever realizes it exists.

I've never had much reason or desire to write an open letter. That is, until my toddler flipped a switch and became a ball-of-destructive-energy-that-also-had-a-tantrum-fuse-one-centimeter-long-which-ignites-into-a-explosion-of-fits-at-the-smallest-of-things.

Yeah, that.

So, Little Man. Consider yourself served with this open letter.


Dear my sweetest, cutest, gift from above, Little Man:

When you were being knit together by the Creator within me, I was super on top of things and signed up for weekly updates on your progress via BabyCenter. After you were born, BabyCenter was kind enough to give me weekly updates and checklists  and help me remember how old you were. What? I didn't say that.

Once you turned the big 0-1, the updates came in monthly. I honestly started to ignore the emails. "Step aside, BabyCenter, I got this."

But I don't "got this."

The BabyCenter emails concerning tantrums prefer to describe your behavior as "spirited" and "high-spirited" and "aggressive". I prefer to say, "You crazy."

Do I stutter when I say "No"?? Because I feel like it comes out REAL clear. I even add the effect of a locked jaw, glaring eyes and flared nostrils. Your response is always similar to that fish, Nemo. Here's an illustration:

You color on the wall like paper is a thing of the past (ok maybe it is a thing of the past, but walls are not the replacement)! I made you a chalkboard wall! It's been pinned over 100 times! I'm a big deal! I drive a Dodge Stratus!

Speaking of paper, STOP TEARING PAGES OUT OF EVERYTHING I OWN THAT HAS PAGES! This is going to blow your mind but I very fondly remember days without touch screens. Daddy and I have switched over a lot of things to digital form but I still very much like my paper stuff. I know. I'm weird like that.

Thanks for boycotting your naps. And by thanks, I mean no thanks.

Don't say I didn't warn you about the play dough. Sometimes you have to learn things the hard way, like play dough is not edible. Not even when it smells like gingerbread. I doubt you'll have long-term memory of how disgusting a mouth full of play dough packed into your cheeks and between your teeth is, but I feel confident that it's stored away in your short-term memory. You haven't tried eating it since. Tell your friends.

On the note of play dough, I hate it. But I love it because it entertains you so well. You're only going to remember the fond times you had playing with play dough. You won't remember the times that I cleaned out your toys with a toothpick and went around the house collecting all the tiny pieces stuck everywhere. You won't remember when you experimented the effects of placing play dough in water and how I got to clean up a gooey play dough catastrophe. Because of this, I will gladly buy your kids play dough, per your request (or maybe per my own stinkin' request because I'll be Grandma and I do what I wanna). I know you'll want your children to experience all that play dough fun you had. Then, and only then, will you find out what I mean when I say "I hate it."

SO HELP ME, if you keep sabotaging nap time and bed time with a poopy diaper just after I put you down, I will start "forgetting to check" your diaper. I'll slightly adjust an old mantra and say "You pooped your pants now sleep in it!"

I take revenge by eating half the tube of M&Ms I buy for you. You never notice. It's my little victory.

On the same day I wrote this letter, you ran into the room with a plastic bag on top of your head like a hat. Didn't yo momma teach you plastic bags on yo head is crazy!? Apparently not. That lesson was probably mentioned in one of those BabyCenter emails I don't read anymore. It was also adorable, so I snapped a photo just before snatchin' that off yo' crazy head!



On a sweeter note:

I love when you tap the spot on your pillow next to your head at bedtime and say "Mommy". It always means you want me to lie next to you. I always do.

Thank you for kissing the boo-boo on my forehead that you created by chunking a metal train at my face while on the plane. Surprisingly, it did make me feel a lot better.

You pronounce books, "butts". It's so funny I haven't corrected it. I will one day.

My heart flutters when you say "Hi Mommy!" or "It's Mommy!" or "Mommy bike!" (because you want me to sit on one of your bikes and ride around the house). I look like a circus clown but I love that you want me to play with you.

Thank you for letting me hold your hand more often than normal. I don't let go until you let go, not even if it means awkwardly criss-crossing my arms to reach for something that's closer to the hand you're holding.

I love you more than words can describe. If someone comes up with a word to best describe it between now and when you read this letter, then I love you in that particular way times infinity (and beyond). Nothing you do...no tantrum, no misbehavior, no amount of bruises, scratches, and teethmarks on my body...will ever change how much I love you.

Until my next letter, stay fresh. No seriously, keep that stanky diaper under control, Little Man.


I love you forever and for always,

Mommy