I make this possibly plural because I don’t know how many of you I’m going to have. It depends on how terrifying I find childbirth, I guess. Maybe I’ll have at least two of you, because I wouldn’t want the other to be lonely.
I love you. I haven’t even had you yet, but I love you so much already. Is that crazy, or what? Because I do, there are things I would never want you to experience, and much of that is my personal responsibility. I don’t want to fuck you up. You fuck yourself up on your own, and make your own mistakes. I don’t want to be held responsible for it. Because I’ll hate myself.
There are things I’ve sworn I would do, and because I have a bad memory, I’m going to write it down.
I promise to let you be yourself, whatever personality you develop. Unless of course, you end up being a serial killer or something. I don’t know what I would do yet if that were the case, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
I promise to never tell you to be quiet in your quest to understand the world and ask questions, and to keep asking your dad and I “why” until we die. Be a precocious child and adult. Be frustrating in all your intelligence.
I promise to let you explore and discover what you like about yourself and about the world around you. That way, when it comes time to choose your particular niche in life, you won’t regret not knowing what you could’ve been.
I promise to be there to listen, and not judge, and give you advice when you need it. Also, I always have a place for you to stay when life throws shit at you, like those monkeys who think playtime is throwing their poop at each other. Except when life does that to you, it’s not as funny.
I promise to suffocate you in family traditions that you hate as a child, so that when I’m gone and you’re older, you’ll remember them and smile. I promise to make you feel at home, because I’m your mama.
Keep feeling life out until you get warmer, and warmer, and warmer. When you reach that hot spot, stay there – because you know in your heart that’s where you’re meant to be.
Play to your strengths and accept your weaknesses. It’s okay to suck at something really badly, as long as you know what you’re good at.
If you ever watch Friends (OMG I’m old), remember that one where Monica finds out Chandler hates her massages, and to make her feel better, he tells her she gives THE BEST worst massages in the world? Be the best at being the worst. Fail big. That way, when you get up again and win, you win big, too. It’ll be all the more impressive.
Also, I have a horrible temper, so don’t take anything I say personally. I still think you’re the best.
Love, your future mama. I can’t wait to see you. ❤
P.S. Sorry (not sorry) for the monkey picture. I didn’t realize how disturbing it may be until I posted it. Oh well, too late. Hashtag noregrets.
DAY 8 ASSIGNMENT: Reinvent the Letter Format
Some might say a post in the form of a letter is trite and overdone. But with the right approach and tone, a letter can tell a great story and get your message across (and it doesn’t have to be negative or bring shame upon another).
Today, write your post as a letter. Approach it in any way you’d like, but if you’re not sure what to write, here are ideas:
- A humorous or satirical letter to a celebrity or public figure.
- A piece of constructive criticism (or praise) to a politician.
- A letter to a thing — a fear, a bad habit, an object, a place, etc.
- A note to yourself at a specific age/year in the past or future.
- A letter to someone who cannot respond (a loved one who has passed, a fictional character).