You are the sweetest thing. You are so cute I can't stand it. You are kind and loving. What a joy you are. What remarkable proof of God's grace to us. You are a precious gift.
And that is what is keeping me from SELLING YOU TO THE CIRCUS.
They're hiring, you know.
You have so many key skills for the circus life. What a star of the show you'd be! The Strong Man has nothing on you. What superhuman strength you demonstrate every time I have to put you in your carseat though you DON'T WANT TO GOOOOO! (And how mightily you cling to said carseat when we finally arrive.) What an amazing feat of dexterity you show when I try to pry something sharp or breakable from your wee hands!
And forget acts like the Bearded Lady or the World's Tallest Man. I can see the sign now: "WORLD'S LOUDEST TODDLER!" That high-pitched shriek you emitted at the grocery store last week was a thing to behold. People will gather in amazement to see (and hear) you. Folks without kids won't be able to believe that such a sound could come from such a small person. Those with children will be unable to look away--much like with a carwreck--but will then sigh with relief and congratulate themselves that it's not their kid making that unholy noise.
Trapeze artists? Boring, compared to your ability to virtually disembowel your bedroom furnishings while you're supposed to be napping. The curtains torn from the window and strewn on the floor! The stuffed animals tossed about and looking like a psychedelic crime scene! The drawers of drawers (ha!) emptied and crammed in every nook and cranny of your room! And you, bouncing on the bed like the little monkey you are.
Yes, it's truly amazing how an entire three-ring circus can be housed in one small body.
Of course, you wouldn't be alone in your new circus life. Mommy and Daddy have become quite good at lion taming, you know. We would wear splendid outfits (machine washable) and top hats and use stickers and threats and pleadings and prayers ("Lord, help me not to PUT THIS CHILD IN A BOX and mail her to the zoo") to keep your ferocious self at bay. Audiences would ooh! and ahh! to see us dance around your flailing, kicking, screaming form. They would gasp in wonder at our ability to avoid being bitten or mauled by our little tigress. Crowds would gather from miles around to see you go from 0 to 60 and back again in mere minutes.
We would make a fortune. Come to think of it, maybe we should just invite people into our house to watch the antics. We can sell tickets at the door, which would save us the trouble of having to travel from city to city. "Hi diddly dee! It's the circus life for meeeeee!"
Oh, Annabel. What entertainment we have around this house, 7 nights a week.
Heaven help us,
Your adoring Ring Masters