Dear Sweet Pea,
When last we spoke I do believe I was begging you to not be so, well, you. Was that only yesterday morning? Should I be surprised that in typical toddler fashion you did not listen?
So last night, after being warned multiple times to leave the hot sauce alone, when you saw your chance to take a big old swig, and you seized the day, did I feel bad?
Nope. Not a bit.
When you cried and pointed to your mouth, so indignant that the pretty orange sauce had caused you pain, did I feel bad then?
But I did give you a cup of milk.
Which you did not want to drink.
Instead you slowly let the cool liquid spill onto your tongue and down your chin onto your "Princess" nightgown.
And when you realized your nightgown was soaking wet with milk and uncomfortable, did I feel sorry for your confusion on how things end up going so wrong?
And when you violently grabbed a washcloth and proceeded to scrub your tongue in a vigorous attempt to remove the burning sting of betrayal did I then feel pity for my tiny toddler?
But I might have been laughing so hard at this point that I had to grab onto the kitchen counters for support. I looked across the kitchen at my beloved. The Greatest's eyes glistened with tears, not of empathy, but of mirth. So it wasn't just me.
My only regret is that I did not take pictures.
I do believe the only thing left to say is: I told you so.