Sorry I Peed on You (and Other Heartwarming Letters to Mommy) (2 page)

You don’t seem very happy that I tossed my food against the wall. But please see it not as a wanton act of toddler vandalism. Rather, it is an act of creative expression.

When you’re my age, you don’t have too many ways to tell the world who you are. I can cry, use the three words I know, or throw food. I call this particular fresco
Marinara on a Voyage through Space and Time.
Many things inspire toddler-food art. I derived my inspiration for this piece from finding a chunk of green bell pepper in the sauce.

One of the things art is supposed to do is create an emotional response in the viewer. Judging by your response, I’d say my creation was a success! Though not all people respond the same. For some reason, my masterpiece made Daddy thirsty, because he stood up and said he needed a drink.

Just because I jump higher and giggle louder every time you yell “Sophia, stop jumping on the couch!” it doesn’t mean I’ve got some couch-jumping
problem.
I can stop anytime I want, Mommy. I just jump on the couch to relax, and see what’s on the kitchen counters. The fact it makes you and Daddy have faces like you need your diapers changed is an added bonus.

Not only is couch jumping satisfying to me, Daddy says if I keep it up, I’ll probably satisfy his insurance deductible. So please, Mommy, don’t worry. I’ve been jumping on the couch since I was in diapers—I know what I’m doing.

Today Ms. Jenny, the preschool teacher, brought her special hairless cat to class, and we all got to pet it. Ms. Jenny sneezes at other types of cats, and I think I do, too. If we got a cat, I’d want one just like Ms. Jenny’s, and she could come over and bring her cat, and the cats could play together.

And you should hear how Ms. Jenny reads books, Mommy. She has the most beautiful voice. Not that you don’t. But it’s like she sings the words. She says she learned to sing from the birds in her yard when she’s gardening. Ms. Jenny can talk to birds, Mommy, and they land on her fingers as she sings and walks through her garden.

Ms. Jenny says that everyone should care about the environment, and that’s why she rides her bicycle to work. Why don’t you ride your bike to work? How come you don’t garden? Why can’t you talk to birds? Can we get a cat?

But even though Ms. Jenny is super-amazing, she isn’t there for me when I have the sniffles or when I’m hungry, so I still love you more.

You know how you keep telling me “You don’t have to yell”? I know I don’t have to, Mommy. I
want
to.

Sometimes I think that you don’t like it when I yell, even if I’m piercing your eardrums with the words you’re so happy I’m learning, such as “No!” and “More!” and not just shrieks and shouts. But then I think, “How could that be?” I love to yell, so why wouldn’t you love to hear me yell?

I think you should just relax and learn to enjoy my long, shrill, high-pitched shrieks. I won’t have impulse control until I’m at least three years old. You know how Daddy can’t stop saying those bad words when his favorite team is on TV? That’s how I’ll be until I start preschool.

I don’t know if you noticed, but Daddy’s been wearing shorts for at least a month now, and during the day you can hear the bigger kids swimming in a nearby pool. It’s summertime, Mommy; please don’t bundle me for bed as though we live in an igloo.

I know that I’m small, so you can’t tell how warm I am. But I was hoping the pools of sweat in my footsies might be a clue. When I started squirming as you were putting me into my PJs last night, it wasn’t because I wanted to stay up later. I didn’t want to be cocooned in my winter sleeper after a day when you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Why don’t you just let me sleep in my diaper but put some blankies in the crib; I can grab them if I get cold. Now you can feel like you’re doing your best to keep me from getting sick, and I can stop having weird dreams about being in a sauna with Elmo.

Yesterday, Daddy said
shit.
He told me not to tell you that he said
shit
in front of me, because he said that you’d be upset, because then I’d copy him and start using
shit
when I talk. But I told him he didn’t have to worry, because I know
shit
is a bad word. I’m only using
shit
right now so I can tell you that Daddy said
shit
—right after he accidentally backed over the trash cans.

Please don’t be too mad at Daddy. He doesn’t know why this
shit
always happens to him. He just knows that
shit
happens. Then Daddy’s boss called him as he was picking up the garbage. Mommy, why does
shit
roll downhill? Does
shit
have to wear a helmet like I do when I ride my bike down our hill? Who is rolling
shit
downhill? Judging by the look on your face, I’d say that you don’t know about half the
shit
I’m talking about. That’s okay. I guess that’s just the way
shit
is sometimes.

First of all, let me tell you that I was just as surprised as you were. No baby ever wakes up one morning and thinks “Today is the day I’m going to pee on my mommy.” Someone must’ve left a window open, because that breeze hit just as the diaper came off, and before I knew it, I’d entered you in a wet T-shirt contest. I’m too young to know what embarrassment is, but as someone who pees on himself all day long, I can tell you that I know what it’s like, and it’s not pleasant.

I won’t be able to control my pee muscle for at least another year, and probably longer. Remember how when I was a newborn you’d keep a towel handy in case I sprung a leak? You may want to start doing that again. It will greatly reduce the chances of my first words being “Crap! This was my last clean shirt!”

I’m truly sorry, Mommy, and will try not to pee on you ever again unless I have a very good reason.

Remember yesterday when we accidentally got off the freeway in the part of the city where Daddy always says to lock the doors? And on that wall was an amazing mural? It had all kinds of names, and I think I saw what looked like a hand with one finger? Well, when I saw that, I thought, “Why can’t our toilet be as colorful as an inner-city freeway underpass?” So earlier today when you became distracted by answering the phone,
voilà!

I have lived in this house for three years now, Mommy, and I thought it’d be nice to draw something that tells the world a toddler is part of this community and that she’s committed to transforming her environment.

I suppose if you don’t want me to represent my toddler culture, you can use a blow dryer to melt off the crayon. I just thought it’d be nice to make my mark.