To My Squish,
What to say to my littlest girl who loves me more than her binky or blankie? More than "pood" (food) or her "hwing" (swing?) You have been so much fun to watch grow and while I have made numerous references to your lack of speech, your vocabulary is in fact developing nicely. Your favorite things right now are Sesame Street (namely Elmo or "Melmo" as you call him,) your swing in the backyard, and your brother and sister. While I find all of this very endearing and I love you actually more than you love me, there are a few things I think we should go over.
First of all, although I love being your-very-favorite-thing-ever-in-the-history-of-all-mankind, I do in fact, sometimes, require a wee bit o' privacy. For example, when I am in the shower, I would appreciate you not holding open the curtain so that the entire bathroom gets cleaned with Dove body wash. While the room always smells nice when we're done, the constantly wet bathroom rug is starting to smell and permanently stick to the linoleum.
Secondly, when we find ourselves in a store, your only job is to sit quietly in the cart while I do the shopping. I know this is not your favorite activity but I feel the need to address it for two reasons: A) I'm beginning to her the Cops theme song in my head whenever we go into a store thanks to all the lovely items you've swiped recently, including but not limited to a pack of disposable razors, a mini bottle of Purell, and 37 packs of gum. I'm not sure where you hide these items when we check out but the stockpile you've been gathering in your carseat is alarming. Please. STOP STEALING. B) Your resistance to being in lockdown is typical I realize, but the accompanying screams are getting to be a bit much. I know there is a pack of wild dogs in Northern Africa who can hear you but can't actually see you and that's just mean. Really. ENOUGH WITH THE YELLING.
Also, when you happen to find me standing still, this, believe it or not, is not an invitation for you to see if you can scale Mt. Mommy. Whether I'm curling my hair or washing dishes, your efforts at pushing me out of the way and dragging me by my pants leg is NOT GOING TO WORK.
Finally, if you happen to stumble upon me, in the, ahem, bathroom, kindly shut the door and walk away. DO NOT, under any circumstances, take this as an opportunity to come sit on my lap for reading time. Seriously.