Dear Parks,

I woke up today and-after extricating your foot from the small of my back-I realized that in two weeks you will be one-year-old. Like, HOLY CRAP. That means you'll be 1/33 of my age and practically as mature as both your mom and dad put together. Since this revelation, we've mutually decided that you will be responsible for paying the cable and internet bill. That's $162.50 a month. I don't care where you get it, but it's due on the 8th so I'd like it by the 6th. I figure by one you need to start carrying at least part of your weight around here. That's part of 26lbs. I'm carrying ALL of your weight most everyday. I figure you carrying part of it shouldn't break your back. And, hey, aren't you going to be driving soon? I've got some videos I need to return.

After realizing your birthday was looming imminently your father and I freaked out and realized that we have done NOTHING to prepare for this-and I'm not talking about a birthday party. We've already bought the tequila for that. We are "alledgedly" supposed to transition you to WHOLE REAL MILK and, like, FOOD. Someone even mentioned taking your BaBas away. Are these people crazy? I told your father that I was going to buy a flack jacket and some mace as I'm pretty sure you aren't going to take to this transition too kindly.

You DO eat "food items". Like, corn and corn and sometimes some more CORN. But, you really aren't too keen on anything else other than fruit and PUFFS. I'm pretty sure that corn and puffs-although they make for interesting diapers around here-are not nutrionally solvent for a one-year-old.

When we attempt to integrate green things and stuff that actually contain vitamins into your diet the result is usually not pleasant...remember that "hurling" skill I talked about? You've also developed this knack for making something your father and I refer to as "The Ricky Gervais Face". One day I'll let you watch the movie "Ghosttown" just so you can see what I am talking about. Its the face he makes during the part where he has dinner with Tia Leone and there is a large canine in the room that obviously smells horrbly bad? That face. It's a cross between a dry heave, a gag, and a full body convulsion. Sometimes you do it so dramatically that your father and I just laugh and call you out on it. Like a college freshman that's trying to hard at shooting tequila. WE GET IT KID. You don't like SQUASH. You don't have to fall on the floor, gag, and pee your pants. Save that for when you get into a sorority.

And then I say things like, "save that for when you get into a sorority" and I want to laugh, but all I do is get very upset and realize you will leave me one day and all of a sudden I'm in that moment where you are packed and 18 and sassy with long hair and not enough damn sense and are about to take off in your car and all I can think is, "This all went WAY TOO FAST" followed closely by, "I'M NOW ALONE WITH YOUR DAD. WOOT! BACK TO NEKKID SUNDAYS!!"

But, seriously, Happy Almost Birthday. Your Mama is now going to cry and make the Ricky Gervais face for a while (and possibly shoot some tequila).

Please stay little a little bit longer. If you do, I'll let you eat corn and take a Ba-Ba everyday. Or at least until the kids in high school start to give you shit about it. Then I'll help you kick their ass.

Love,
Mama