Dear Mom,
Wren here. Yeah, with the Big Kahuna you wrote letters to him, but I’m a new baby with different needs and abilities. So this time I am writing to you.
I’m adorable. Like a-close the front door-able. You are clearly made to produce cute human beings so feel free to make more, especially since I have obvious leadership ability and am not cut out for the role of ‘the youngest.’ Or, ‘the middle’ when I think about it. Actually, if it’s ok with you, I’d like to submit my resume for the position of ‘the oldest.’
I’m straightforward. Unlike the Big Kahuna I’m not going to make you guess about what I want. Remember that day you started blowing your tongue at me? LOVED IT! Best joke I’ve heard in ages. And your delivery? Are you related to Lucille Ball because you’re clearly a comedic genius. I want more of that, and I’ll let you know by doing an adorable baby attempt at blowing my tongue back. at. you!
I’m a team player. I know that I’m not the only one with needs in this family, and I can chill while you deal with the Big Kahuna. Speaking of the Big Kahuna, we had a talk. You’re gushing over how he’s been great about my arrival, and I just want you to know that I gave him a little… pep talk while you were in the bathroom. Like Dubya and Cheney, I might be #2, but we all know who the real boss is, um, I mean… Team player. I’m definitely a team player.
My poop doesn’t stink. At least not to you. You keep telling people that it smells ‘sweet.’ FYI, you don’t have to suck up to me, Mom. You’re already my favorite because milk. So you can chill with the, “I love her poop!” Honestly? It’s weird.
Listen, I know I’m the new guy in town, but I really feel like I’ve improved this family considerably (refer to the bullet points in my resume). You guys are clearly happier since my arrival. And I’ve filled this Wren-shaped hole you didn’t know you had. I guess what I’m trying to say is:
Love,
Wren “The Oldest” Oates
