Apology Letters to My Children: Alexander

I sat down to write an apology to my baby boy, and realized I wanted to make it a "thing".  So hopefully over the course of the next few weeks/months/years (there's no time in blog land, right?) I will impart my motherly love and sorrow to these offspring who got stuck with me.

First up, Alexander Blaise 

Age: 15 months

Dear Xander,

   Oh my sweet baby, how I love thee.  You never fail to make every single one of us laugh every single day.  And I'm sorry that we always refer to you as the baby.  "Someone get the baby!" "The baby is playing in the toilet!" "Don't give that {insert dangerous/choke-able toy} to the baby!" and the ever popular "Where is the baby?" which competes for first place with "Who is watching the baby?  I know I told someone to keep an eye on the baby!"

  But you really don't mind being called "the baby" all the time.  I know this because you respond to it by running away, yelling unintelligible things and smacking us on the head with your broom.  You love brooms and vacuums and clean the floors with me all the time. 

 If nothing else is clean in our home, at least the floors are.  You don't even realize you are being Tom Sawyered.  Poor thing.

And it's not just because you feel entitled to every crumb that has fallen below the table, but also because your mother has OCD with vacuuming, and toy cleanup, and only-setting-the-microwave-timer-in-increments-of-not-five-or-ten...but I digress.

   I'm sorry that you only know how to talk in a loud yelling outside voice because you have been blessed with brothers and a sister that shout over one another all day long just to be heard.  You get right in on that action, especially at Mass so that even the Angels shudder by the booming of your voice.  Oh sure, the cute old ladies say you are just singing God's praises, but we know the truth.

   I have to apologize that you are constantly being carted around to all of your older siblings activities.  Just look forward to the fact that when it's your time to shine on the field or court, we won't be there cramping your style. We'll be too tired from the previous 10,243,567 games we've had to sit through already.  You're welcome.

   I'm sorry that when you learn anything new, we make you perform it ad nauseam.  But seriously, you shaking your grove thing, or doing yoga, or blowing kisses to Jesus, or singing "Town" at the end of every verse of Wheels on the Bus, or blowing whenever we say the word "hot" is just too cute not to be played on repeat.

   I apologize that you will never ever ever get the following things brand new:

     1) Clothes

     2) Shoes

     3) Toys

     4)  Anything at all

But that's okay because the vintage look is in, right?

And by vintage I mean thoughtfully placed holes for big toes.

I'm sorry that sometimes you just want to chill and suck your thumb and hold a taggie blankie, but have to make due with your own fingers instead.   

Yesterday, I even found you walking around holding onto the tag from my bra.  I think there will be many therapy sessions to make up for that one.  The fact that I didn't take a picture shows I am improving, though right?

   I'm also really sorry that for your first birthday, all we got you was a balloon.  

But you feigned enthusiasm for us, sweet boy.  Don't worry, we've got something really special planned for Christmas...it starts with a b and ends with an ox.  

    But please know that there's is one thing that I will never be sorry for, and that's how much I love you.  You are a delight to our family and we won't ever stop laughing at your hilariousness.  Sorry.

Signed your work-in-progress mother,