post-womb tales

Dear future womb occupier,­

 (who—crossing my fingers—enjoys off-brand formula and microwavable chicken nuggets)

   Let us begin with apologies. If you forgive me for one day accusing you instead of your brother (who broke the lamp with a football), I will forgive you for the 9-month kickboxing match in my stomach. You’ll be learning many lessons from your smart parents, so let me begin here: 

3 things

   1. I promise you’ll be brought up in a cool home. We’ll play records and put pictures on the wall with tack. When your friends come over, they’ll have a right-out-of-the-oven batch of Nestle pre-packaged cookies. Every detail in the love life of you and your friends will have to be passed through me. Your dad will tell me to stay out of your life, but if you’re living the plot of my favorite chick flick, then I’m entitled to know things. Also, if you're expecting pure and unconventional happiness, then welcome, you're in the right womb.

   2. Football players, math tests, stock market (all things that will inevitably crash in your face). Remember that Dad and I are here for you, like obsessive fans that show up at your house. If we know anything at this point, it's that life is hard. Things will seem like the end of the world, and unless zombies crawl into our gutters, I promise it isn’t. You’ll use dramatic teenage language and go on long tangents about vampire movies, and we won’t even roll our eyes at you (maybe). Eventually, everything goes away.

   3. One thing we know for sure: we don’t know you, but we’re desperately in love with you. It’s a love we don’t understand now. There will probably be more poop and “ooo, ahhh’s” then when we bring a new pillow or picture frame home. But, I pinky promise to take better care of you than a plant or expired egg in the fridge. Regardless of our sleepless expression, we will pick you up at 4:38 am with all the gentleness we can muster. I will clean the boogers from your nose without gagging (even though past experiences haven’t been as promising). I will bandage your knee when you fall off your first bike. I’ve never had a broken heart, but I promise your Dad will crack his knuckles and pretend to kill the enemy who broke yours.

   So if this doesn’t excite your pre-formed toes, then I don’t know what will. Whether you’re the first or the last (opps, I’m already forgetting the middle child), your Dad and I love you.  

Love,

Your living Piggy Banks and Kissing Booths