Let me tell you, sweet daughter, that I’m writing this out of admiration for your creativity and the way you work to make sense of your world – even though, as a teenager, this may well be the kind of thing that makes you wish your mother had never, ever written about you. I love you very much.

After a poor night’s sleep (you woke up at least three times and, as often seems to happen now, when I got out of bed to go to the bathroom without you [ah, pregnancy!], you cried and screamed and ran after me, which poses dangers in the dark), we concluded that it may have been because your stomach was bothering you: what filled your potty today was more liquid than solid. When we went to play today, you told me you had to pee, but that wasn’t quite what came out, either. Tonight, as you were going to sleep, you put it best: you had a pee toot.

And really, I think you summed it up perfectly.

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