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Hey, 2-year-old, I love you. You are the light of my life. I
don't know what I'd do without you. You give me the gifts of love and happiness
and a ton of other things. You fill my soul. It's deep. But, for Mother's Day, if I can be real, there
are some things that I really want. I know
you've been sitting in your play circus tent surrounded by Mega Blocks
stressing for days about what to give me, so let me make your life easier. Here
are some suggestions. Spoiler: Not one of them is
a necklace made of macaroni.
Giving me the gift of a good night's sleep would be one of
the greatest, most thoughtful gifts you could give me. No requests for drinks
or snacks in the middle of the night. No silence-shattering "MOMMY!", no
pooping yourself at night. This
would be a gift of immeasurable value that I would so freaking treasure. Yes, even
more than a personalized photo mug.
2. And if the first item on the list is pushing
it, how about just not kicking me in the sternum for three nights in a row?
As much as I joke about the pangs of toddlerhood, the whole experience of getting to be your parent is a gift.
3. Eat your veggies
Please eat your carrots without being shamelessly
bribed or without full-on Broadway-style productions complete with kick lines put
on by your father and me. Not having to go through such extreme measures to encourage you to eat one bite of squash would be a
4. Give me some of your goldfish crackers with the
intent of actually letting me eat them
I would love a gift of goldfish crackers or yogurt melts or
anything, really, that you allow me to keep and not change your mind about. It would be amazing if you would not freak
out after I eat the goldfish crackers with a screaming, "YOU ATE MY GOLDFISH
CRACKERS!" followed by stingy tears. I ate them because you gave them to me,
5. Sit still while I brush your hair
I want one of those moments—one of those mother-daughter
moments where you sit in front of an oval vanity mirror, and I sit behind you,
lovingly brushing your hair while we smile at our reflections and you tell me
your goals and dreams. Orrr, how about just being able to run a brush through
your wet, bird's nest hair a few times before you screech off and hide? For Mother's Day brunch, it would be nice if you don't have the same hair as Beetlejuice.
6. Give me a really good Mother's Day photo, where
you're looking right at the camera with both eyes open
And for more than 1.4 seconds.
Some days, trying to snap a photo of your perfect face atop your extremely
active body is more challenging than taking a photo of lightning.
7. Go poo in the potty
We both know you're ready. You tell me when you have to go.
And you tell me when it's time to change your diaper. At this point, you not
going in the potty is just toying with my emotions. For Mother's Day, instead
of making me breakfast in bed, go sit on that toilet and grind one out, will
8. A day without begging to play with Play-Doh or
watch toy unboxing videos on YouTube
I don't want to hear the words "Play-Doh" or "egg
surprise" the entire day. Please don't make me spend an hour using my nail as a
putty knife to clean up your 10 minutes of Play-Doh fun. And please let my
ears not bleed from hearing these toy unboxing people's voices for one day.
9. Let me eat a whole meal without either demanding
to sit on my lap or threatening to jump out of your high chair
To be able to eat and actually chew my food would be presh—especially when I don't have to get up from the table to place little Houdini's legs and arms back into the
high chair restraints, or negotiate around an obstacle course of
little arms and a head to get a bite of food to my mouth.
If I get none of the above, which is highly probable, I
would simply request some warm, prolonged cuddle time with you, where you
willingly stay snuggled up in my shoulder nook for more than 10 seconds,
letting me really cuddle you and love on you and take you all in. OK, honestly a big hug and a smooch will
do. Or even just hearing you giggle. Or
watching you play. Any little thing you do goes a long way with me. Because as much as I joke about the pangs of
toddlerhood, and if I may get deep again, the whole experience of getting to be
your parent is a gift. And with the exception of the neck kicks and maybe also the Play-Doh smears, I'm grateful for it all.