Yesterday I left your ten-moth old, butterball self in the middle of my bed while I attended to a work crisis. I ran to the kitchen where I had my laptop set up so I could resolve the current lawyer catastrophe and when I heard you crying I felt bad, but thought you were just mad at being left alone so I finished my e-mail. When I ran back into the bedroom you were not on the bed. I could hear you crying, but in my panicked state could not locate you. I finally found you lying on the floor with your fat head wedged between the nightstand and the bed. You were not happy. Trust, I cried longer than you did. You escaped with a bump on your head, but my psyche will forever be scarred.
In order to make up for my lapse in parenting judgment, I make this pledge to you:
When you turn sixteen I will extend your curfew until 2:00 a.m.
I will not solicit a prostitute for you, but I will look the other way when I find a stash of Playboy magazines under your bed.
I will buy you a car (you're paying for the gas).
I will accept a "C" Average (I'm pretty sure you're an under achiever anyway).
I will not make you clean up your room (but don't let your filth trickle out in my hallway).
I will let you watch "R" rated movies at 15.
Drug use and smoking are still forbidden, but I will let you get a tattoo of Snoopy (where no one can see it).
I'll make your sister do your chores. Oh wait, I let her fall off the diaper changing table when she was a year old....I guess I'll be doing both your chores.
On second thought, you won't remember your four foot fall (your sister doesn't remember hers) and I'm already getting over it, so never mind.