Dear final child to spring forth from my loins,
This is you, in all your last born glory.
The perks of being the youngest are enormous, I hope you realize that. You get parents who almost know what they are doing and have enough experience to avoid a few major pitfalls that your older siblings experienced. (One day get your brother to tell you about the forgotten sunscreen debacle of ’06 to get a clearer picture on how you lucked out.)
Also, you get lots of hand-me-down toys PLUS you get your own birthday and Christmas presents. That is an obscene amount of My Little Ponies or Barbies that your older sister would have killed for, my friend.
You have an older brother and sister that can provide a lifetime of teaching moments. By watching their escapades you can learn that one shouldn’t call their mother a “big fat meanie” unless you want to spend a lot of time on your bed doing solitary. Seriously, learn from them, and save yourself from doing some hard time.
However, as the youngest you do get gypped a bit. I won’t fall for your tricks as much as I did with your older siblings. You’re dealing with a seasoned professional, not some rookie. When you come downstairs ten minutes after I put you in bed and tell me that you’ve had a nightmare? I won’t believe you. The past ten years have taught me a thing or two about R.E.M. cycles sweetheart.
Additionally, when I tell you to put away some toys in your room and you only take 30 seconds to get the job done? I’m going to know that you didn’t really do it. You can’t play a player, honey. Resign yourself to that fact now. It will make your teenage years much more enjoyable.
Another area you get robbed in is the whole ‘scrapbook of memories’ thing. I take pictures of you, I really do. I just don’t put them in a cute album with stenciled catchy phrases like your brother and sister have. And unlike your siblings, I don’t have a detailed timeline of when each of your teeth came in or how many times you spit up in a day or how much you ate. Sorry about that. Just remember, I kept you alive. That’s worth something, right? Especially when you consider how hellbent on self-destruction you were as a baby.
There are a few things I never want to forget so I am writing them down here, until I have a spare moment to rig up your own scrapbook sometime in the coming decade. Here they are:
*You are the most affectionate person I know. Some of my favorite moments are when you come up to me, squeeze hard, and say “I just can’t stop lovin’ you Momma.”
*You will talk to anyone. In great detail and depth. About anything. Once you approached a large, surly looking construction worker, looked him straight in the eye and asked, “So, what do you want to be for Halloween? I’m leaning towards a bumblebee, because bees get to sting people, and that’s just great.” This big tough guy visibly melted and got you a donut.
*You sit and play with your little Strawberry Shortcake people for hours, creating your own overly-dramatic and exciting world. Often I hear you exclaim, “That is a catastrophe! Oh my!” It’s like PBS meets the Days of Our Lives.
*You ask 214 questions everyday. That is not hyperbole, that is a very accurate estimate. And I am a good mother because I answer you at least half of the time.
*You tell me that I am your best friend and that you want to live with me forever. And truth be told, most days I’d be all right with that.
I love you dearly and eternally oh last child of my loins. Never, ever, forget that.