Tough Luck, Cocoa

Dear Cocoa,

I knew you were trouble the minute Adam walked in the door from preschool clutching you under one arm and grinning from ear to ear. I see from the binder that accompanied you that you have had some fun times with the other kids in Adam's class. You've gone shopping (you even got belted into a cart for safety!), you went out to eat at several area establishments, you went golfing, and you even went to a rodeo. Whew! Fun times, Cocoa. I bet you had some high expectations for your weekend at our house with Adam.

And your binder! Wow, I cannot believe what those sadistic creative preschool teachers can come up with. We were really supposed to document your weekend here with writing and pictures of our adventures, huh? Gee, Cocoa. I haven't even written in Libby's baby book since she was born 16 months ago. And I can barely even talk about the fact that our last professional photos feature a 4-month-old Adam. Clearly you can understand why I have not been taking your picture as often as you're used to, journaling about your every cute gesture, and carrying you around in a sling on my hip.

So, Cocoa, I apologize for your weekend spent with us. I recognize that we are not what you've become used to. I admit, when I first saw you, I started scheming up a few madcap adventures for us to have together. You were going to leave here telling everyone about your fabulous, picture-perfect, Cleaver-like weekend with Adam and his family. Like fingerpainting and letting your children help you cook, you are a really adorable idea in theory, and I was ready to embrace you.

You were this close to a trip to the pumpkin patch on Saturday. I bet you would've gotten your picture taken then. But it rained that day. And, as you've learned during your stay here, the Nichols family is in no hurry to change out of our jammies or stray too far from the TV on a rainy weekend. No photo ops there.

I had every intention of having Adam take you to church on Sunday. But, given that we almost forgot to put Libby in the car, you can see how easy it was for us to walk out the door and leave you behind.

Sorry, I didn't dare take you to the store. You probably would've gotten left behind in the produce section. I regularly worry about leaving a child there.

And, while I recognize that you are accustomed to fine dining out, we were not in the mood to take our show on the road this weekend. I hope you enjoyed dinner chez Nichols. The crying and theatrical gagging you heard from Andrew is just part of the ambiance. In answer to your question, we were not trying to feed him slugs. It was taco lasagna.

Cocoa, I have to hand it to you. You've been a good sport, and you're not a complainer. I haven't minded having you around, apart from the occasional bouts of mind-blowing guilt you've inspired in me. Everyone hates goodbyes, but tomorrow you have to go back to preschool. (I know, two days late. I forgot to send you the other day. Surely you're not surprised?) So now you and Adam are about to have a little whirlwind playdate for the next couple hours, and I am going to follow you around with the camera like you're used to. (Do you think it would be dishonest if I were to change Adam's outfits in between pictures? Hmmm. Probably.) Then I am going to create a journal entry for you, highlighting your audio-visual experiences, your restful Sabbath, and your fabulous home-cooked meals so my sweet little boy has something to share at preschool. And you are going to smile patiently and keep mum. You seem pretty good at that.

Sincerely,

Adam's Mom