A letter from my seven month-old

Mum, Dad.

We’ve been living in this arrangement for seven months now. I really appreciate everything you do for me, I do. For instance, your diaper game is really strong. And peek-a-boo? Thrilling. Thank you for that. It’s just… I have some outstanding concerns. I don’t want to be overly harsh, but I’ve given you plenty of time to figure these things out on your own. Clearly, that isn’t going to happen. So it’s high time we had a little talk. Please review the information below.

Letter from Monkey

Cords. I want them. I want to pull them. I want to hold them. I want to eat them. The laptop cord, the vacuum cord, the lamp cord. I want them all and you continue to deny me. I’m never going to know until I try, right? So come on. You should just just give up already… because I won’t.

That small person who lives with us. You know, bigger than me, smaller than you. He is great. I mean, that guy – just fantastic. I want to grab his face with my little fingers and never let go. You know? But is there any way you could get him to stop throwing stuff at me? Thanks.

And on the topic of that guy. How to put this delicately… he was probably like me once, right? He didn’t arrive here into this house that size, did he? So presumably, you’ve done this baby thing before. I don’t want to be rude, but… shouldn’t you be better at this?

This is a tricky one. I’ve been working on this with you for months, hoping you would get it, but something’s getting lost in translation. It’s time to spell it out. When I am in bed and I cry, I want you to pick me up. That’s it. I can’t be much clearer than that, can I?Just PICK. ME. UP. I don’t care if it’s been twenty minutes or two hours since you put me down. I can’t tell time. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but come on. Get it together.

Stripey pants. I can’t pull them off. You know it, I know it. Stop trying already.

The fireplace is great, isn’t it? So cozy and warm now that the weather’s getting colder. Oh wait, how would I know that? You won’t let me near it.

Vent covers. They are delicious and they feel really good on my gums. Please stop removing me from their presence. At the very least, if you’re not going to let me have them, don’t let me crawl across an entire room to get to them, only to be snatched away at the last second. Not cool.

Shoes. See vent covers, above.

That thing you do in the bath. You know, where you snap your fingers above my head so I’ll look up, and then you clean under my chin. Enough already. I fall for it every time. It’s embarrassing. Let’s be adults about this; stop the trickery.

Here’s fact for you: I’m gonna barf on the carpet. It doesn’t matter how long you hold me after I’ve eaten; it doesn’t matter how long you confine me to the non-carpeted areas of the house. Bib or no bib, play mat or no play mat, I’m gonna barf, and it’s gonna be on the carpet. Deal with it.

There’s more to say, but I think you’ve heard enough for one day. Like I said, I really appreciate everything you do for me. I’m sorry for the tough love guys, but you can do better. Should you have any questions, I’ll be available from 2 – 4 a.m., in my crib.

Yours truly,



4 thoughts on “A letter from my seven month-old

  1. I absolutely love this. I’m giggling – seriously. Your baby sounds adorable and you’re really nailing this interpretation of the voice of an infant. For sure. 😉 Popping over from nablopomo – weird, I know – that I just sort of found you! But I randomly opened up two of your posts so I have to check the other one, too. 🙂 Nice to meet you!


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