Dear Lucy,

My little snookerdoodledoos, we have some issues to deal with.

First, I know it’s lighter in the morning now (damn time change), but this is not cause for you to start waking up earlier. It says in your owner’s manual that you are programmed to rise at 7 a.m.; any deviances mean a system malfunction, but we can’t afford to take you in for service right now with needing new tires and wills and the money-sucking holiday Christmas coming.

Second, why are you now pooping three or four times a day? I’d grown quite fond of the one bomb, and don’t do well when you change things up on me. Is it because you’re getting three solid food meals? Do you enjoy watching me laugh when your face turns red and your eyes pop out when you fill your diaper? Are you protesting the Iraq invasion?

Whatever it is, please cease. These poops make me eyes water with their rancidness. Plus your diaper pail reeks, and the froo-froo soaps I put in the bottom to mask the smell aren’t working anymore and it’s gross.

Lastly, shirts that go over your head are not going to hurt you. Your wee developing brain may think so in the .1589 seconds the fabric covers your face, but I promise you everything is just fine. (Did you know your father had this issue growing up, and Gramie could only buy button-up shirts for him for a while? Of all the traits I wanted you to inherit from your Dada, this was not one of them.)

You can, however, continue to make those cute new noises while rolling your tongue around your mouth (blu-blu-blu, aaah-beee, laarhhh, laarhh, lalalalalaaaa) and giggling while Steve snarfs you (see it on YouTube!).

Love Mummy

Possibly related posts:

1. Lucy bits
2. Lucy bits
3. Almost 4, going on ohdeargodwheredidshelearnthat?
4. Lucy can poop all she wants at the new Ajax Tim Hortons
5. I think I’m suffering from post (poop?) traumatic stress after this one