Dear Facebook Acquaintance,
Oh, how I remember the days of having babies. Yes, I was just like you. I bought them cute little outfits, hired the most prestigious local photographer, and tortured my little ones until I was in fetal position, crying on the floor. As a seasoned mother, I’m here to give you some advice. Listen up.
Staaaahhhp. Your child is not a candle. Your photos were not cute and 43 angles of Johnny in a pumpkin are unnecessary.
I saw the look of denial on his sweet face. “Mommy would never do this to me. I’m only 4 months old. I just started sitting up on my own.
Not only did you cut out little leg holes; you stripped him nearly naked, down to his little orange designer cloth diaper.
I flipped through more photos. Johnny screamed in anger. He was furious and couldn’t believe you had the guts to perform such a heinous act. You had promised him you’d never let anyone hurt him! And now this!
So Johnny did what any four month old would do–his only bargaining tactic. Little Johnny took a huge, leaky shit that ran right up his back.
I flipped through the album and noticed you only bought one orange diaper. Weren’t expecting that, were you mommy? I also noticed you didn’t bring a spare pumpkin along to your ohsoprecious photo shoot. How does one clean explosive poo out of a pumpkin, may I ask? Any sane mother may give up at this point, but not you. You promised your friends this album and nothing, absolutely nothing will stop you from getting that one. perfect. shot.
Oh, little Johnny. I see it in your face. You realize that no amount of wailing or poopy diapers is going to change your dear mother’s mind. It is utterly inevitable. Your chubby legs will be forced through those wee holes, your head protruding from the top.
You question where things went wrong. You blame yourself. Perhaps your mother is still angry about that lost Robeez that you kicked off at IKEA. Your tears of sadness seem to go unnoticed.
With one last fight, you scowl at the camera. I can almost hear them – the photographer and your mother, oohing and ahhing over the sweetness that envelops you. Your mother may have exclaimed “I love his angry little face!”
By now you realize there’s only one way you’re getting out of this pumpkin. This embarrassing, smelly, bittersweet body shackle. It will mean your mother has won, but you know eventually you’ll get revenge.
You do what needs to be done.
You look right into the eye of the camera and present your best smile and yet another slimy shit in one glorious finish.
About the author: Jenny Halteman lives in a small town in northern Michigan. She homeschools her daughters and is passionate about playing the banjolele and throwing axes. She lived on a boat for six years with her husband and is happy to have returned to the dirt-dwelling life. You can follow her on Twitter (@Jenny Halteman) and Instagram (@jennyhalteman).