Mom, I think we need to clear the air.
A few days ago at the doctor’s office, you called me, “your problem child.” You said it in that high-pitched baby-talk voice while smiling and tickling me, which makes me think you were kinda-sorta joking. But I think you were maybe also kinda-sorta serious.
Is it because of the ringworm? Look. I have no idea how I got ringworm. You’re the adult. You figure it out. I get it. It’s weird. I have been exposed to absolutely nothing that would give me ringworm. After all, we never go anywhere on account of me screaming every time I get in the car. But looks what happens when you take me out in public! I GET NASTY FUNGAL INFECTIONS! Can you blame me for shrieking the entirety of every single car ride? It’s my only defense! And besides, all the rest of the time I’m pretty much the smiliest, happiest baby ever, so I think you’ve got it pretty good. But back to the ringworm – let’s just chalk this up to one of life’s great mysteries. I have it, now move on.
Could it be this allergic colitis thing? Is that why I’m the “problem child”? I hear you complaining about not eating dairy anymore. Or egg. Or soy, which according to you is in everything. And I know all you want is to dig into a massive pizza with a side of ice cream. (And real ice cream. Not that coconut milk crap.) But seriously, Mom. First. World. Problems. I’m the one bleeding from my gut, remember? Is a little sympathy too much to ask? Besides, the vegan cookies you baked can’t be that bad. I mean, you ate the entire batch in like, three days.
Or maybe it’s because I don’t sleep? I don’t really understand what the problem is. I just love you so much I want to hang out with you all the time! That’s a good thing, right? I know that since daddy is deployed and you’re on your own for now that the nights are really long. I’m happy to stay up with you to make sure you’re not lonely. Just doing my filial duty. Plus, that’s our special alone time without that pesky sister of mine bothering us, you know?. I love her, but she steals my pacifiers when you’re not looking and tries to pick me up out of my swing. (As a side note, can you please remember to not leave her alone with me? Like, ever? Thanks.)
Anyway, the other day I heard you talking to your friend. She told you her baby sleeps 12 hours. You said something like, “12 hours!? OMG that’s not fair.” You know, you’re right. It’s not fair. She has to go without cuddles and snuggles for 12 whole hours, every night. How selfish of her baby. Meanwhile, you get to cuddle with me like, every two to three hours. You are so fortunate. #Blessed.
Yet you still seem concerned about this whole sleeping situation. The other night you said to your friend, “Maybe the wine will help him sleep.” Oh, Mommy, you’re so funny! I don’t know what wine is but, no, it will not help me sleep. Let me make this very clear: Nothing will help me sleep. I am impervious to any and all efforts to sleep. Sleep is for the weak. I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD!
Now hold me. (Oh, and since you’re already holding me 24/7, do you think you could manage to bathe me every now and then? That would be great.)