First – I love you very much, you are the air that I breath, the light of my life, my heart. If I could find a gypsy to sell you to, I would, so let’s save eachother the hassle. Going forward I would love it if…
You would wake up in the morning, smile, and call my name, but you’ve taken to petulantly demanding a show then crumpling miserably into a puddle when you don’t get it. You haven’t gotten a show before school ever, and asking every morning for a year isn’t going to change my mind, neither will sliding from the bed to the floor like a limp noodle. Anyone that limp has clearly been watching too much TV anyway.
Cease stamping your feet when I decline to carry you up the stairs. You’ve been fully capable of walking up and down the stairs on your own for over a year. You weigh 35 pounds, are half my height, and are heavy. You used to be so proud when you walked on your own anwhere, what gives? You. Can. Do. It. On. Your. Own!
Don’t let my asking you to go potty before brushing your teeth freak you out so much. I know you like routine, but it just isn’t a big deal to go potty first. I know what you are doing when you suddenly start to: pick your toes, pull lint from your belly button, play with Daddy’s brush, watch leaves wave in the wind outside, talk about the birds, close the bathroom door, over and over, cry, stamp your feet, and hit me. None of this distracts me into forgetting that you were asked to go potty.
When I ask you to put on your own underpants, please don’t shout “NO!” and run away.
I’m sorry that I got frustrated with you this morning, but walking you through 4 tantrums was hard. My heart broke when you tearfully told me that you “wanted to be a good boy” but I also think you knew that you were close to loosing your TV privledges.
You’ve been a pill every morning for the last month. If things don’t get better soon I feel compelled to warn you that in addition me considering all reasonable offers, I am saving this so that I can show it to you when you complain to me about your own child’s behavior. Oh and that picture of you drooling on the carpet when you were one, that’s for your wedding day.
PS I wrote this, completely forgetting to check in with Moma Kat. Her promt, share a love letter, fits in nicely.