In Case the World Ends Tomorrow

Dear Calvin,

If the world ends tomorrow, you may be screwed because you're not getting baptized until next month. But know that I thought really hard about it. And if you're stuck here, I want to be too, because you really aren't very good at taking care of yourself.

On Sunday you will be ELEVEN. MONTHS. OLD. You are HUGE. You want to eat all the time. You can call me "mama" now and seem to know that's my name. You want to be able to stand up (and you do, sometimes, for a moment, before you lose your balance and do a butt drop). You are growing two more teeth and are about to lose those adorable little fangs, and that makes me so sad. I loved having a little vampire baby.

I don't actually believe that anything is going to happen tomorrow, but let's take this opportunity to talk about it. First, the gentleman who claims to know that tomorrow is Judgement Day previously predicted that it would happen in 1994. As you can probably guess, it didn't. Many other folks have predicted the Second Coming on many other dates, and it still hasn't happened. There's no reason to believe that this one is any different. And here's the lesson to be learned from this: you can't trust people who claim to speak to God. Sure, I know there's Bible stories about people who talked to God, and that's cool, but most of the time those people are, for lack of a better term, BATSHIT CRAZY. I will be sorely disappointed if you end up joining a cult, or Scientology, and really confused if you start claiming to be the Messiah. If you are the Messiah, you can stop trying to choke me with my necklaces and pulling my hair out, because that is NOT Christlike behavior.

Also, can we discuss this whole moving around thing? You crawl fast, and you pull up on everything, and that can result in some pretty scary falls. Like when you pulled the baby gate over onto your face. And when you fell off the bed at your great-grandmother's house. Okay, that one was my fault for falling asleep with you on the bed, but you flail in your sleep, I don't care what my mother says, and that is DANGEROUS.

I'm cleaning up the kitchen and hiding the recyclables so you have another area to explore. I'm also going to have to post the number for Poison Control for when we inevitably forget to lock the cabinet and find you sitting among a bunch of bottles of toxic chemical cleaners (that I love to use because there's something about that astringent smell that just screams CLEAN) and we won't know if you drank them or just chewed on the nozzles, and we'll have to call and be Those Parents, and then the baby gate will go back up and your father will trip on it again and it will just be a huge long-term disaster. But isn't making ill-advised and potentially irresponsible decisions what being a parent is all about?

Love you, baby,

Mama