An Open Letter To Myself In Twelve Years

Dear 45 year old Claire:

I assume you are reading this for one of the following reasons:

  • Every woman in the house has PMS right now.
  • Your daughter has a “boy issue” and has locked herself in her room after screaming how much she hates you.
  • Your son and his friends just ate the dinner you prepared early, mistaking slow cooked ribs for his after school snack.
  • One of the kids crashed the car.
  • One of the kids crashed someone else’s car.
  • The school found pot in the locker belonging to your child.
  • You just found porn in the browser history of your laptop and your email is receiving non-stop unsolicited X-rated ads every hour.
  • Nobody is listening to you.

Take heart. You have forgotten how far you’ve come. Consider this:

  • Your back does not hurt from carrying an 18 pound sack of live water weight in and out of the car three times a day in ninety-degree-one-hundred-percent-humidity weather.
  • You do not have poop on your clothes.
  • You did not get pooped on in the middle of the grocery store, nor did you have to bathe any of your children at all today, let alone in a grocery store sink.
  • You have not done anyone else’s laundry besides your own in several years.
  • You have not been chasing down a smell in the house and you did not find a poopy diaper that had fallen behind the dryer two days ago.
  • Though you may feel like you have been repeating yourself for the last few years, at least you can speak in more than three-word sentences, and you are no longer double checking to see that all of your children are wearing underwear.
  • After cooking dinner, you got to sit down and eat without having to serve and cut three portions into teeny tiny pieces. You did not throw any leftovers into a blender. You don’t even have to deal with leftovers anymore!
  • You did not miss that diaper sale last week at CVS.
  • You went grocery shopping alone today. You heard yourself think. You enjoyed an entire cup of coffee before it got cold.
  • You do not have poop on your clothes.
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One comment on “An Open Letter To Myself In Twelve Years
  1. Akela says:

    Charming. The poop in the clothes argument seems particularly convincing, while the 18 pound sack of live water weight seems like a real threat to me right now.

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