Julie, Jules, JulieBear, Jujube, Momma, Mommy, please come back to me. I made stinky, and I need you. After all we’ve done, all we’ve been through, you up and left me without so much as a goodbye or a temporary babysitter. I would like to speak about this with you in person during tummy time or over a bottle, but I cannot find you. Alas, I will have to write to you over an internet blog and hope the message reaches you.

I am recovering, learning to live without you. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurting. You left with no warning in the middle of the night. You knew I was awake because you passed my crying in my crib on your way out. You didn’t even bother to put my binky in to calm me down for a bit. For a time, I thought you were going downstairs to heat up a bottle, and I paid no mind to the two suitcases you toted. Maybe you were just practicing carrying me up and down the steps. When you didn’t return, I thought you had been attacked, leaving me vulnerable to abduction by your infertile sister. But you were not attacked, nor did you return, leaving me with a lot of questions, and empty tummy, and a full diaper.

We were together for three long years. Three beautiful years of laughter, burps, and uppies. You mashed and fed me peas and carrots, apples and bananas. I will never know how you got me with the airplane trick every time. Three marvelous years of smiles and nap time. Being only 18 months old, I literally have not known life without you. Now I write to you, sitting in my own boom boom because the hardest part about being single is changing your own diaper.

I lack the dexterity and patience, and I’m just at an awkward angle changing by myself. But I am adapting, learning, and persevering. With every misstep and frustration, I think of you and long for your return. I miss your calm voice and smooth hands, the way you sang to me as you wiped and powdered me, and the way you would cheerfully say “all done” as you stretched the adhesive strap into place. It was just different when you changed me. It’s now a messy chore instead of a bonding experience. I’ve tried pull-ups, but they’re not the same. I’ve even taken a stab at potty training, but I’m not ready for it. How can you expect an 18 month old to be potty trained? How could you do this to me at such a tender age? Whenever I unfold the changing table in a women’s restroom to change myself, I am met with scowls and even shrieks. My eyes are glued to the entrance, foolishly imagining you walking in to lend me a hand.

I crawled into your friend Jessica the other day, and I asked how you were. After rudely refusing to give me uppies, she said you had signed up for a husband and not a baby. Look, I’m sorry. People change; situations change. But what happened to til death do us part? What happened to the compassion I fell in love with? Was it all fake? The motherly love, the bedtime stories, the stroller rides? Think about the potential consequences of your actions. Without your maternal protection, I could fall down and go boom, rupturing my soft cranial sutures and leaving me in a perpetual catatonic state. Are you seriously going to risk that?

Jessica also mentioned that you shared your frustrations with the relationship dynamic being all about me. Apparently I never asked how you were, never praised or thanked you, and never offered to help you cook or clean. In what universe is an 18 month old expected to do that? First, I lack the language skills to ask how you are, and babies just start develop empathy at around the 18 month mark. So if you stayed with me a bit longer, things could have improved. Second, being a mother is a thankless task, so get used to it. And third, do you want a baby in the kitchen with you around all those sharp objects? Didn’t think so. As I mentioned, maybe things will change as I age and mature. Sure, I have been 18 months old for the last three years with no indication that anything will change. But it’s incredibly selfish of you to walk away before giving me a chance.

Can you at least come by on Fridays to take me to Timmy’s for our weekly play dates? I’m really not asking for a lot here. Changing myself is enough of a hassle let alone feeding myself and driving myself. Do you have any idea how cumbersome it is to drive a Camry while strapped into rear-facing car seat? Or maybe this is all a game of peekaboo, and you are waiting to pop out and surprise me. In that case, disregard what I have written, as I lack the object permanence to know whether you are still here. But I have my suspicions that you are gone for good.

Maybe you’ll find someone older and more mature, like a three year old who can walk, talk, and go to the potty on his own. I wish you the best of luck if you do, but just know that I will be missing you every time I make stinky. And I will try to change myself like a big boy, but I will be hurting. I suppose we all must take on additional responsibilities in life, and being on diaper duty is my first step. I will grow to accept it, but you must also accept the pain through which you are putting me. If you have kids of your own one day, maybe we could be friends and have play dates. Maybe I can even help you change their diapers. I suppose I will be okay, but it will be a long and arduous journey. After all, as Gandhi said, “Be the diaper change you wish to see in the world.”