Remember how we went to the zoo this weekend? You took my hand and said, "You're my buddy, Daddy! Come with me, Buddy!" We looked at the giraffes, fed the goats, rode on the slide, and "flew" in the gondola. You were adorable, and it made me want to wrap myself around you and hold you forever.
Who was that kid, and what the hell have you done with her?
Look, I know you're three. You're about as stable as a Mexican space shuttle. No one is expecting reason or accountability from you. But we need to talk about some of the more pronounced behavior that gives your mother that look in the morning.
In the morning, there's no need to slip into our bedroom like a ninja and declare, in your distinct, immodulated way, that "it's day time!" First, please note that it is usually pitch black out. This, by any rational definition is not "day time," Riddick. The reason you're tired all the time is because you are not sleeping enough, so when we waltz you back to your bedroom it's not because of some Guantanamo cruelty, it's because we
don't want you to be a whiny bitch all day you need energy. If you really can't sleep, then at least let us sleep; you're exhausting, quite frankly. That's why I taught you how to use Tivo.
And about the whining, you do not need Mommy to watch TV with you. You've done a fine job watching it on your own, especially since it's the only medication to yank you out of those negative feedback loops that usually end with you puking and crying at the same time. You also don't need Daddy to color with you, since my crayon is apparently always where your crayon wants to be, nor do you need one of us to fetch your water which you just threw on the floor 10 seconds earlier--especially when you scream "NO I WANT TO GET IT!" whenever we
angrily grudgingly lean over to pick it up. What you need is to pick one or the other, or your Mommy will stay locked in the bedroom until after you're in bed.
Oh, and one other thing. Just take a shit already! You think we don't see where you're ramming your hand? All the pillows in the world won't keep the dookie in, kiddo, although I'm amazed at your sphincter's resistance Miralax. You're uncomfortable, we're frustrated, and our neighbors think we're hosting the Taiwanese parliament. I can understand not wanting to smell it (the porta-potties at Phish concerts smell better) but why in the name of god would you want to keep it in your body? Against it's wishes? Don't make me sprinkle Colon Blow onto your breakfast...
We still love you, sweety. Don't be freaked out by our weird eye-twitches or the way our veins bulge when you refuse to go to bed. Forgive us if we yell, or walk away, or threaten to inject you with rhinocerous tranquilizer. We don't really mean it (mostly). We know how sweet and wonderful your capable of being. So feel free at any time to meet us halfway, and maybe dial down the crazy a tad. I think we all want to make it to your graduation alive.