A Letter to my Sons

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To my dear sons, I want you to know that momma loves you more, deeper, and stronger than you could ever know. You are two of my greatest treasures in life and I wouldn't trade one of our days together for anything on this earth.

We have had some hard days though and while I promise to never wish the trouble you've inflicted upon me to someday manifest itself in your own children {well, other than that one time daddy says I did}, I cannot promise that momma will always be in her right mind.

Should a day ever come when I loose my mind and revert to a child-like state of dependency, you better pray boys. You better pray I do not revert to your state of child-like dependency. You better pray the phrase "And we're naked!" doesn't become my favorite saying. The phrase is embedded in my brain thanks to you loudly proclaiming it (while fully clothed at least) in public. Frequently. (where did you even learn it?!?)

On that note, you better pray I stay fully-clothed. You constantly remove your clothing every time I turn around. Pray you never have to utter the phrase "Why are you naked again?" as I have, hundreds of times a day.

You better pray I won't respond to directions with "NO!", throw myself to the floor, and smash my head on a corner, like you do. Bruising doesn't look good you know.

You better pray I don't become as set in my ways as you or I'll scream at you if you don't warm up my glass of milk. And it better be in my favorite glass, or I'll throw it.

If you ever have to go shopping with me, you better pray I'll walk (or at least sit in a wheelchair) through the store. If I won't though, I guess you'll have to carry me. You didn't think being carried was a big deal though, so it shouldn't bother you.

You better pray I don't spill a whole glass of milk into your cloth couch. Boy, that smell lingers.

You better pray you never turn around to see me peeing into a sippy-cup. Yes, yes you did that.

You better pray I don't start wildly screaming every time you sit down to work.

You better pray I don't eat your shaving cream or your favorite lotions. You better buy organic ones, just in case.

You better pray I don't steal the juice from your fridge and drink it from the container. If I do though, I'll tell you I love you, just like you told me.

You better pray that I won't insist on feeding myself. You'll go through a lot of laundry.

You better pray for patience, because I endured all of this and more from you two and I didn't stick you in a home. I expect the same from you.

Love you both, always,

Your Momma

MotherhoodCarrieComment