Dear the Last Time I Carried You Back to Bed:
I just realized it’s been six months since you’ve staggered into our room, crawled into our bed, snuggled up to our bodies, then needed to be carried back to your own bed thirty minutes later after kicking me in the groin. I didn’t know on that now uncertain date that your proposed and accepted 2am snuggling was to be the final entry in this series of annoying but nourishing escapades, and thus would now like to retroactively reject the finality of this visit.
You’re already four years old and accepting said finality would require also accepting future finalities, such as the final time you get stuck putting on your shirt, the final time you ask for peanut butter on a pacifier, or the final time you touch my face, then say dada-da-dada, then laugh, then lean your forehead against my cheek, then….
It’s been weeks since that last happened. Have I already accepted this as well?
In short, I feel you have been grossly disingenuous, growing up as you have, without clearly designating important endpoints. Thus, please accept this predated rejection letter and crawl back into our bed, beginning tonight. I’ll be looking for you at 2am.
With abiding love,
Theric Jepson is author of the novel Byuck, editor of the zine Quatrain.Fish, and father of four children. @thmazing