My Baby’s Letter To SantaRebekah Kuschmider
I apologize for the lateness of this letter. You see, my mom selfishly won’t let me use her laptop OR her phone to write to you. In fact, every time I reach for them, she pulls them away saying “No, no, babies don’t need Twitter.” I thought I would have an opportunity to connect when we visited you at the mall, but my big brother did all the talking. All I got out of the experience is a picture wherein I look slightly dazed. They could have warned me about the flash, ya know?
Anyway, Santa, I’m going to hit the big 6 months the day after Christmas and it’s time I got to roll with the big homies, ya know? My brother isn’t the only kid in town anymore and I expect equal treatment under the Christmas law. So, I’m appending a short list of requests that I hope you’ll consider.
- The Ability to Crawl: I can get from sitting to my stomach but then some sort of force field stops me. I’m not sure what the problem is but, no matter how much I wave my arms and legs, I don’t go anywhere. I suspect it’s some of those super-villains from the cartoons my brother watches interfering. I’ll need you to defeat them, too.
- A Real Meal: You should see the stuff my mom eats! Indian food, pasta dishes, meat loaf and baked potatoes. The scent is enough to make you weep with desire! But does she share? No. She eats her meals while I stare at every bite and practically hyperventilate. Then she tries to shove some kind of insipid banana mush into my mouth. No way, Jose. I want a steak, Santa, and I want it soon.
- Art Supplies: My brother has all these markers in gorgeous colors. GORGEOUS. Teal, emerald, rose, and a goldenrod yellow. These are the kind of colors you’d see only in the finest drag club costumes. My brother smears the colors across paper and then discards them. Waste, I tell you! Clearly those colorful markers need to be sucked on like the finest popsicles and those colors ingested until my used diapers are all the colors of the rainbow.
- A Driver’s License: Listen, my mom is great and all but I don’t think she knows what she’s doing in the car. First, she makes me ride backwards. No one else is riding backwards. It’s disorienting and frankly, a little queasy-making, especially after dark. She also sometimes stops and just hangs out for a while. There’s no rhyme or reason to it that I can see but, then again, I’m backwards. Maybe there are signals she’s responding too. Lights or something. Anyway, I screech at the top of my lungs to tell her to turn me around and get moving but she is not paying attention. I think I need to stage a coup and take over the driving.
- A Global Ban on Sleeves: I freakin’ hate sleeves, Santa. It’s like having your arm swallowed by a python. Torture. TORTURE, I say. But does my mom listen to my protests? No. She jams those suckers over my arms every day, mumbling something about “Below freezing temperatures.” Then when I try to chew my way out of them, she pulls them out of my mouth and complains that they’re all soggy. Of course they’re soggy! I’m trying to dissolve them with my own saliva! For me and the rest of baby humanity, Santa, please make sleeves disappear.
I hope you and the elves have enough time to get cracking on all of these wishes Santa. Sure, this is last minute but hey, it’s my first Christmas and I’m totally adorable. That should be enough to get me whatever I want, right?
Best wishes to Mrs. C and the reindeer. Maybe I’ll catch you while I’m up for a 4am feeding next week.
Photo credit: photo stock