Dear Archer & Pox,
You are thirteen-months today, you little teenager you. Right smack on schedule you have become a squinty, devil-eyed, cackling rebel. Why? WHY!?
First let's talk fingernails. You will not let me cut them anymore. Bad for you and worse for me as I am constantly given the once-over, scratchmarks down my arms, neck and chest. I look like a victim of assault and/or obsessed with slitting my wrists the wrong direction and/or a cat lady. As you know I dislike cats about as much as I dislike born-again-Christian rock bands so this is really unsettling. Your toe nails are also quite long and I'm considering giving you a ghetto-fab mani-pedi. Maybe with a little butterfly stencil or a flower? Wuah-ha-ha! How about that for revenge? But seriously. Your claws are becoming an issue. This aint swell, dude.
Second, I would like to take back everything I said about wanting you to crawl. Please regress so I can have my sanity back. In the past hour alone, you pulled 7201 books off the shelf, about a zillion CD's, you broke a remote control, ate a spider, swam in the dog's water bowl. You hid out in my closet for ten minutes with 89 pairs of shoes and when I found you, you were eating my favorite Gucci sandal, you then sorted through the dirty laundry and spread it all over the kitchen. You decided to sit on "Coo-ca" thus pissing him off. You tore this month's Vogue, and I wasn't finished reading about Kate Hudson and gagging myself over her adorablity. You clawed me a hundred times, you emptied a box of legos and pushed them all under the couch. You emptied a bag of wooden blocks and pushed those under the couch. You knocked over your stroller, you somehow found a small wooden object and chewed it. You threw-up something that looked alive, you banged your head against the coffee table until you cried, you locked me in the bathroom, you broke into my car and drove it away. Seriously. All of this actually happened (except for the car-driving part.)
Lastly I would like to comment on your diet. Bread and water? Dude. This isn't prison but it might be soon if you keep feeding Avocado, Pesto ravioli and Chicken to the dogs. I want you to be happy, sure, but how can I possibly sit back and watch you eat rocks and sticks and sand? I just don't understand you!? Why do you fill your body with such harmful substance! How could you?
You're only thirteen (months). You have your whole life ahead of you. Please let me cut your fingernails. Please don't try to eat the dog.
I love you anyway, even if you have chosen to join the dark side. It's just a phase. Sigh... Adolescence.