I wrote this "Letter of Apology" to my mom a few years back and it still makes me giggle. Thinking about what a handful the boys were makes me glad to be past that age, but it also makes me yearn for those times when they were so little. As crazy as it sounds, I do miss the craziness. But more than anything, I miss the innocence... and definitely the naps too. If I'm going to be really honest, I'm dreading puberty. I'm not ready to have a house full of "dirty socks." I just want to rewind and go back to the bitty babies who only saw boobies as a meal- the age when they not only kept it in their pants, they kept it in a diaper too. I'm feeling way too far from tot and much too close to teen, and its FREAKING ME OUT, MAN! The time, where has it gone? I'm sorry I never believed my mom when she said how fast it would go. I guess I should add that to the list of apologies below....
This is my formal letter of apology to my mother for all of my toddler shenanigans. In writing this apology I am hoping to lift whatever curse/hex she put on me long ago. You know, the one that goes, “I hope you have a child JUST LIKE YOU someday!” I scoffed at those words long ago, but they aren't so funny anymore. Not only do I have a child like me, I have two of them. I know my Mother is thrilled by this because anytime I call to share one of the kids' most recent mind boggling stunts, she usually responds with, “Yup. I remember when you did that.” And I swear I can hear her grin through the phone, basking in the karmic retribution. So, since my experiences have bared such a close resemblance to my Mother’s, I will use them as models for what I am so whole-heartedly sorry for.
Mom, I want to apologize for never letting you get ANY quality sleep, EVER. I’m sorry I would wake up sixty times throughout the night. I’m sorry that each time I woke up it would be just before you dozed off. I’m sorry you would wake up just as you started to doze off when I didn’t wake up because you were sure I stopped breathing. I’m sorry I woke up from naps early on the days you needed to get as much shit done around the house as possible before dad started calling you Peggy Bundy. I’m sorry dad started calling you Peggy Bundy. I’m sorry for being one of the main reasons you had SO much to do around the house.
I’m sorry for pulling all the books and movies off the shelves. I'm sorry I left a clothes trail wherever I went. I’m sorry for spilling ev-er-y fucking drink I got my hands on. I’m sorry I then played in those drink puddles and was somehow able to splash them to the ceiling.
I'm sorry I only ate cheese puffs for an entire month and made you question what kind of person you were for letting me do that. I’m sorry for telling you the food you cooked was "yucky" when you tried to make something new. I'm sorry I would eat corndogs dipped in my chocolate milk instead, and tell you how good it was while you dumped $70 worth of food down the sink. I'm sorry you would eventually find $70 worth of food CRUMBS under the couch cushions, along with 3 crayons broken into 200 pieces, 17 mismatched socks, a salt shaker, your good tweezers, and your car key you paid $300 to replace.
I’m sorry for getting into your makeup and putting lipstick, blush and eye shadow all over me and the walls. I’m sorry I also crushed it into your beige carpets and made it impossible to yell at my Picasso-clown-face without laughing. I’m sorry for eating your expensive face creams and then screaming so loud that you couldn’t hear poison control tell you I’d be fine, but may have diarrhea.
I’m sorry I had explosive diarrhea right before you were trying to run out the door to make an appointment on time. I’m sorry I pulled my diaper off and pissed and shit all over the house. I'm sorry that after I was potty trained, piss and shit still ended up all over the house. I’m sorry that what made it in the toilet was your cell phone, your toothbrush, your hair brush, rolls of toilet paper, markers, crayons, toys, shoes, jewelry, etc... I’m sorry I also tried to eat every one of those items.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be pleased 85% of the fucking time unless you gave me fruit snacks. I’m sorry that you were sorry after every time you took me to a grocery store, mall or restaurant. I’m sorry you had severe anxiety attacks when you went to those places WITHOUT me, due to post traumatic stress. I’m sorry for running faster than the fucking roadrunner immediately after learning to walk. I’m sorry I climbed up every object taller than myself like a monkey with a death wish. I’m sorry I had the brain of a gnat and the fearlessness of Evel Knievel and would jump off, into, and onto the most dangerous places possible. I’m sorry I found each and every sharp-ish fricken thing in our house and stuck it in or around my face.
I’m sorry I made you crazier than a shit house rat. Truly, I am. After all the things I put you through, I can not express in words how amazed I am that I survived past my toddler years. And when I say “survive” I don’t only mean because you didn’t strangle me after I destroyed irreplaceable or expensive items, I also mean because you were always right there to catch me when I would jump from the top of the steps while you stood at the very bottom. I owe you one... or two.
Your Very Remorseful Daughter,