An Open Letter to that Mother at the Park with those Perfect Daughters


Dear Not-Tired-Looking Mom,

In the five minutes it has taken you to locate your sliced fruit and kale chips, your five-year-old has nestled up beside you with a book while your one-year-old has begun fiddling contentedly with her own toes. In these same five minutes, my son, age one and a half, has run directly toward oncoming traffic, wrestled a rake from its perch, tipped over a scooter, upset a hornet, fallen off a step, shed blood, stomped his way through the deepest part of a muddy puddle and lapped up the foul-smelling water like a dog.

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