Let me introduce myself. I am your Mom. I am the lady that spent an accumulated 52 hours in pain, in order for you to be born. (This is not including the 152 weeks of back pain and kidney pain you put me through. And I will not even mention the lifetime loss of bladder control that I now have to endure.) I realize that you may not know much about me, as a person, so I write this letter as a way to explain a few things to you.
First of all, before you were born, I was skinny. I was skinny and I didn't have stretch marks. Since I attribute my current state to your existence, I feel that you owe me. I will be taxing your college funds in order to cover the costs for my reconstructive surgery.
Secondly, I was actually quite intelligent before you were born. I attended college and was considered very witty, by many. The fact that I can no longer match my shirt to my pants, is due to your need to keep me up for 72 straight hours, when you were a week old.
Also, I didn't always walk around talking to myself. It used to be, that when I spoke, people listened. When that stopped happening, I guess I didn't notice, and the talking continued. Feel free to insert, "Yes, Mom." and "I sure will, Mom!" at the proper intervals, when I am babbling. This lets me think that you are listening and boosts my confidence in my mothering.
I also understand that I have spent countless hours sitting in the bathroom, potty-training you. I know that the jokes and the songs and the praise helped you to make a "wee-wee." Now, you need to understand that I do not require this kind of stimulation to use the bathroom. You do not need to pound on the door, stick your fingers under the door, or continually yell, "Mom? Mom? Where are you?" I promise you, I will not fall in. (Because, as you kindly advised me once, my bum is too big to fit in the hole.)
Lastly, know that I love you. More than your Dad. Remember this when you are choosing our nursing homes, but only have enough money to send one of us to a warm climate.