Dear Young Neighbor Who Complains About My Baby

by Chloe Yelena Miller
Originally Published: 
Caiaimage/Trevor Adeline / Getty

Dear Young Neighbor Who Lives Below Us,

Thank you so much for your kind letter about how loud our toddler is. I love receiving mail that isn’t a bill!

You are so impressive to handwrite a three-page letter. I’m so sorry we haven’t yet exchanged email addresses for more regular correspondence.

You wrote that our baby’s screams wake you up at 6:00 a.m. You haven’t slept past 6, “even” on the weekends? Since our toddler wakes up around 4:30, I’m happy to know how quiet we are!

I appreciate your offer to come over and help us pick out a “proper” carpet as you “happen” to be an interior designer. So, what’s the “proper” carpet that’s easy to clean poop, vomit and spaghetti out of?

Do you really wish that we’d take some toys outside? I’ll happily drag our toddler out to play “bang the toy” on your air conditioning unit. Fresh morning air does a body good, almost as much as a nutritious breakfast thrown from the height of a high chair.

You’re right, I did introduce myself when you first moved in and said, “Let me know if we make too much noise.” You know how your boyfriend says, “No, baby, you really do look great in those pleather pants?” Right.

You can hear my “choo-choo” sounds when I read the train book? In case you weren’t sure, the air vents in the building go both ways. And yes, I do think your boyfriend is cheating on you. Sarah, who you should probably call less often, isn’t telling you the truth. You can trust me, though.

It looked like it was really difficult to balance your green smoothie, coffee, and yoga bag while you balanced in heels on the way to your SUV last Thursday morning. Your hair even looked like you had time to blow it dry and style it. Since I hadn’t showered in a few days, mine was dry too.

Do be sure to pick up your West Elm package that’s lying by the front door. I’d hate for my son to “accidentally” jump on the “fragile” sticker.

Mail, right? We all love it.

XXOO, The Upstairs Mom

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