My dear, sweet boy:
As you’re laying face down in the Walmart check-out line, face planted, tears streaming, legs kicking, because I oh-so callously took away that bag of Combos from your hot little hands, you probably think my mind is on — oh, I don’t know — the myriad of diseases coating the floor, or the abject humiliation of a million judging eyes on me, but you’re wrong.
Adorable dear Toddler, revenge is on my mind.
Eight years from now, I’ll remember the day you were so angry that Macaroni and Cheese was on your plate at Boston Market that you slammed yourself face first into the leftovers. The memory of your mac and cheese face will be clear as day as I ask four million questions about the menu item, then send it back — twice.
Ten years from now, I’ll remember your high-pitched screams in the middle of church, and as I drop you off for school, I’ll yell “Honey! You forgot to give your Mommy a kiss!” or “Did you remember your special cream?”
Twelve years from now, as you’re sleeping soundly on Saturday at 7:30 a.m., I’ll bound cheerfully into your bedroom and insist you watch television for me (and also fix my breakfast.)
Fifteen years from now, your Dad and I will volunteer to chaperone your prom. And we will dance like no one is watching. Heard of “The Lawn Mower”, “The Sprinkler” and “Walk the Dog”? They are dance moves like you’ve never seen before, debuted before your entire class and all your friends. You’re only as young as you feel, and we’re going to be feeling every day of sixteen.
Eighteen years from now, I’ll sit on the couch with your pretty little girlfriend and show her your baby pictures. I know the perfect one.
Look how fat and red and blotchy you were! Now where did I file the ones of you in the tub…..
So keep crying, my dear. Thrash your head and scream with all your might.
Dear Toddler, revenge is on my mind.