Listen Baby Rangirl. I want to consider you perfect. You’re the cutest thing on earth at five years old with your new glasses. This, after my fears of you being tortured by the kids at school- but I forgot that these little turds are still fine-tuning their insults. 

Also of note is the conversations you can keep. Thanks to pre-school, Spongebob, and other local experiences- you dazzle us with some new phrases everyday. It makes your attempts at the word “popsicle” seem less like a speech issue when you drop words like “chivalry” in proper context. 

But then you go ahead and do things like rip ass when I pick you up for a hug and crack yourself up. A steady rifle-sounding fart to my arm. Granted, I can be partially blamed for your interest in fart humor. I can’t help but laugh at the occasional blast. 

But there’s always a double standard as you’ll learn in society and the House of Ranman: we laugh at Mommy Ranman’s expense, not mine. Hopefully when you’re reading this we’ve come back from this betrayal. 

And if we’re still at war, I’ll leave you hanging when you need help. Like your brother who wouldn’t listen to me…and got stuck hanging over the tub:


And I won’t let you use MY mancave for your playground:


Things I do for you until that rip. 

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