An Open Letter From Baby #3 to Nate and Sam

Dear big brothers,


Let’s get a few things straight. First, you know I can hear you, right? I may not be able to see, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going on out there. Frankly, I’m not surprised that Erin and Tighe are already referring to me as ‘the smart one.’ Sam, you’ve been tattooing your face, arms, and hands with Crayola markers. Nate, the minion-like language you speak with your friends is nonsensical and confusing.


Second, Sam—please stop kicking me and sitting on me and ramming your head into Erin’s uterus when you hug her. I’m keeping track of these infractions and believe me, some day I will make you pay. Maybe not right away, since apparently my gross motor skills won’t be fully “developed,” but some day.


Third—and this one is also for Sam—my name is not and will not be “Toot Butt.” That’s not even a name. Please cease and desist from calling me that. Frankly, some of your other suggestions, “Sam 2” and “Scotch Tape,” were better than “Toot Butt.” And while we’re on the subject, I also refuse to be named after a Ninja Turtle. In fact, why don’t we just leave the whole naming thing to Erin and Tighe? They’ve done a decent job so far, aside from the Ignatius debacle of 2012.


And now that that’s settled, I have a few questions for you guys. Like, how serious are Erin and Tighe about discipline? Do they really throw away your toys when you talk about poop and butts and farts and penises, or is that just a bluff? How are they at Christmas and birthdays? Generous or stingy? I mean, is it worth coming out early or should I just keep baking in here?



Love always,

Baby #3, aka The Professor


PS You know Erin eats your Halloween candy after you go to bed, right? We both enjoy it immensely.


PPS Please remind Erin and Tighe to set up the crib again at some point in January. Depending on how things are going here in the womb, I may decide to come early. If she steps up her Christmas shopping game, I might even make it December.