Newsletter, Miles

Month 25, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

You’re a difficult child.  There’s really no point in sugar-coating that because it’s who you are.  You’re a pain in the ass and I have accepted that.  You are difficult when it comes to most things and I say most things because believe or not, there are a few areas of your life that I have been able to somewhat manage with ease.  Eating has never really been much of an issue – you can eat like an adult which downright terrifies me when I consider the amount of food you will be eating as a teenager.  I cringe when I see the poor middle-aged Mom pushing two giant carts in Costco packed with Eggo frozen waffles and bread and milk and more bread.  And I know that poor woman is at the mercy of her teenage son who is eating them out of their 401k.  I then turn to you only to watch you devour an entire cup of goldfish crackers in one swift inhale and I know I’m flat out screwed.  On the plus side, your sister has got to be one of the pickiest eaters there ever was.  I’m downright amazed she is not skin and bones – she doesn’t eat a thing unless it’s trail mix or mac n cheese.  My saving grace here is you both cancel each other out.  If I had two boys, I would consider purchasing stock in a grocery chain.

Another area that has been relatively easy is your sleep habits.  I’ve been extremely lucky in this area – Olivia never gets out of bed until I physically go in to your room and tell you it’s time to get out of bed.  Being that you’re still in a crib as well, you both are pretty much self-contained and have learned to entertain each other in the mornings until I’ve showered, made breakfast and then I come and get you.  I know I’m spoiled and I certainly have never bragged about it in fear that it would bite me in the ass.  It’s been pretty amazing . . . until now.  I woke up a few days back to the pitter patter of feet running down the hall and Olivia whispering, “Go!  You go in their room and wake them up!”  I shut my eyes tight praying it was only a horrible nightmare until the waft of fresh morning poop tickled my nose hairs and I heard the heavy breathing and muffled giggling in my ear.  I open one eye to see two very bright-eyed exuberant children who are visibly proud of their daring escape.  I’m pretty sure I growled and I may have uttered an obscenity.  I would have attempted to ignore you both and fall back asleep but I caught a glimpse of you trying to climb up on to our bed and I quickly had to intercept. 

You see, I mentioned that the smell of fresh morning poop quickly assaulted my nose and I knew right away that you were in our room.  We have a big problem with you and it’s your massive blowouts you have every night while you sleep.  I’ve given up on overnight diapers because you blow right out of those things as if I scotch-taped tissue to your behind.  I pretty much wash your sheets and pajamas every morning due to this problem.  I have to fly out of bed if I know you’re running around because I know what ever your behind touches, will have a stamp of your healthy colon.  I would love to have one of those moments you see played out in commercials or movies where the kids charge their parent’s bed and they all snuggle together and watch cartoons and everyone looks dreamy.  If we allowed you to do this before we cleaned your morning diaper, we would all have crap streaks across ourselves and our clean bed.  I instead have to wake up super fast as if my house is fully engulfed in flames or else I will be on my hands and knees cleaning poop streaks on various pieces of furniture.  I would gladly buy you a bed but I don’t want to have to wash bed sheets every day.  Washing crib sheets is a fraction of the size and you still have some what of an obstacle of getting out of the crib itself.

You can climb out of the crib but you do it with the assistance of your evil crafty sister.  I was curious as to how you were able to climb out of the crib since I have watched you attempt to climb in with zero success.  It appears your sister pushes your crib over to her bed and then cheers you on to climb out and land on her bed where you then both embark on your journey to our bedroom to bring the gift of regret – the regret I feel when I question as to why I had children when they take such pleasure in inflicting such pain as waking their parents up with little grace and no shame.  I’ll admit, I have spent many afternoons fantasizing about tip-toeing in to your room in the middle of the night and violently playing an accordion next to your ear.  I giggle a little bit when I imagine the sheer fear in your face when you wake up.  You think that’s mean?  Yesterday, you both attempted to wake us up by singing in to Olivia’s Karaoke machine next to our bed.  That’s cruel.

I actually don’t blame you for discovering how to escape your bed.  There’s no question about it, it’s your sister.  I have heard her in the monitor tell you to do things – the same things I just reprimanded you both for doing.  She deliberately tries to get you to do it again so that you get in trouble.  For instance, I heard you slamming the closet door.  I calmly told the both of you not to play with the door and to go to sleep.  A few minutes later, I then here the sweet little whispers of Olivia telling you to, “get up Miles.  Slam the closet door!  Louder!  Do it louder!”  Obviously, had I not heard Olivia order you to do so, I would have thought that you deliberately ignored me and decided to slam the door in your own defiance.  Of course, I then have to question all those times I thought you were being defiant and going against everything I was telling you.  Turns out, your sister was playing you like a puppet.  At your last physical, your Pediatrician asked how you and Olivia were interacting with each other.  I have known your Pediatrician for years – we used to work together and I’m quite comfortable confiding in her.  I told her that your sister definitely has a sadistic side and I often question whether I’m raising a sadist.  She consoled me and told me most parents often question whether they’re raising a psychopath – it’s the parents who don’t think they’re raising a psychopath that you have to worry about. 

I can’t express it enough how badly I need you to start talking.  The frustration in this house is causing me to age at breakneck speed and that’s not ok.  I’m ok with ageing but in a normal slow-going speed.  I am so over the tantrums that I have decided to just go for it and schedule you for speech therapy and just see where it takes us.  Your pediatrician also suggested a hearing test.  When I received the price quote for the hearing test, I thought they mixed us up with a patient who was receiving a whole new eardrum.  Turns out that nowadays, hearing tests are the price of small cars.  Having a bit of sticker shock, I decided to take the matter in to my own hands and perform my own hearing test here at the house which basically involved me whispering from behind my hand.  I’m happy to report that you passed with flying colors – hooray!  

I’m pretty tired at this point and maybe that’s the anthem of most parents with two kids under the age of 5.  I’m trying really hard to remain calm in most situations especially given how you over-react to most things and can quickly have a tantrum in the blink of an eye.  It’s the advice parents hear over and over – how do you expect your child to handle situations calmly if you’re screaming at them to be quiet.  I have surely done it thinking that a good scream would feel so good but I usually walk away from that feeling guilty for screaming and you’re still crying.  It’s tricky business being a parent and I’m pretty sure I’m in way over my head with you and Olivia but we’re just going to go with it because there’s no return policy with you guys.  Learn a few words and don’t blow out of your pants – those are the only two things I ask of you at this point.  If you can accomplish these two things, I promise I’ll be nicer.  However, this promise is null and void if you were to interact with me before 6:00am.

Love,

Momma

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