I'm truly sorry for our lack of correspondence up to this point. This time last year I was a tender four months old, you see. Thank you, by the way, for all those Gerber onesies. My frequent blow-outs had ruined all the ones I had, and I appreciate your being so perceptive regarding my needs.
Although you seemed to have gleaned just what I wanted for Christmas last year, I hope you won't take offense at my offering a few suggestions this time around. Not least of which is a more security-conscious mother. The ease with which I accessed her "blog" to create this "post" is alarming, and I only fear for her accounts being hacked and the Gap card being maxed out. That line of credit is very important to me.
- Indirect though it may be, it would be a true gift to myself if you obtained new senses of humor for both of my parents
American Girl Doll outfits are made for American Girl Dolls.
Not fresh and precious infants like myself, as pictured here.
- A real BMX bike. Although I appreciate the gesture, sir, my trike is child's play. I'll never fulfill my dreams of competing with the greats like
or any member of Nitro Circus
while strapped to this very limited vehicle. I'm stepping up my game, and so should you.
- Hair on my temples, please.
- A fresh crop of binkies
These flavors are getting a little stale and predictable.
- A potty chair. Perhaps you misunderstand my intentions; I don't plan to be trained. I happen to know my mother is terrified of this upcoming prospect, and I think I'd have a bit of fun with it. Sitting on it and grunting, getting her all excited, only to reveal a big fat zero. Or maybe, ooo, roll with me here, laying a big poop right next to the potty chair. This might sound to you like I intend to use my gift for naughty, but really it's like a Team Building Exercise. My mom could use some strengthening of character and I'm only trying to help here.
- Spoon skills.
Expounding on this seems rather unnecessary.
- A new table. My mom loves the one she just bought, but I swear that load of freshly sawed lumber is out to get me. My navigational aptitude is calculated and flawless, Nick, so I know it's not my fault I keep getting clocked by that pretentious bench.
- My own bag of chocolate chips. My mom's real stingy about these. She claims it's her concern for the integrity of my fresh-cut molars but I know better. That chick hoards those chips.
Please say hello to the Grinch on my behalf, and would you see if he'd like to be friends with me? Maybe put in a good word? Tell him I think that Who-song is obnoxious too. Anyway thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule for me. I hope you'll agree that I deserve at least 6-7 of those items above. I put up with kind of a lot around here.
Crazy Eyes and Afraid for Her Safety, respectively.