To my 27 month old twins:

I’m a good mother.  I feed, water, and play with you.  I let you hit me in the head with pillows when I have a headache.  I let you sit on me in 100 degree weather because you insist and might scream even though I’m dying from the heat.

I’m a good mother.  I hug, kiss, and tell you I love you all the time.  Even after you have screamed at me because I forgot the Elmo spoon, or kicked me in the shins with your cowboy boots.

I’m a good mother.  I push you on the swings for hours, I blow bubbles with you, and let you jump on me.  Even after you have told me where to sit, stand, what light should go on, off, on again, off again, and have pulled my hair.

I’m a good mother.  I let you play in my car, I let you color with markers, and I let you help me put dishes away.  Even after you smacked my butt and told me I was bad, told me 50 times in an increasingly agitated fashion in three minutes that you wanted juice while I was getting your toast, blanket, puppy, pillow, diaper, pants, and cereal ready.

I’m a good mother. But sometimes I might be a bad mother.

I laugh my butt off at you when you throw a tantrum over something ridiculous.  I try to keep it to myself because I know that at the moment, it’s the end of your world as you know it.  But when you’re outside rolling side to side on your back screaming: “Elmo, plane, doggy, juice!” over and over because I didn’t want to push you on the swing, it’s funny.

When you turn your back to us at the bottom of the hill in the backyard, screaming incoherently at the top of your lungs, gesticulating wildly at the raspberry bush for fifteen minutes because we didn’t want to play with the bubbles anymore, it’s FUNNY.

When you’re wearing nothing but cowboy boots, a diaper, a Tonka hard hat, and a gym whistle, and are throwing stuffed animals everywhere while screaming: “Coo coos!” because I didn’t let you have another cookie, that’s freakin’ hilarious!

When you get so mad you start throwing the swings around, screaming, and then one hits you and knocks you over…well, that just causes me a huge case of gasping hiccups, so please don’t do that again.

Love,

Mommy

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