girl!
while any baby is a great baby, for us, a girl is just so perfect. for some reason when i picture myself as a mother i am holding a little girl and i can already tell nick is smitten with his daughter
text message: your little girl is
kicking her mumma like crazy
kicking her mumma like crazy
text message: i just can't even wait
one more minute to meet her. by the way,
you have a person inside of you, if i
didn't know any better, i would
think that would be a problem
one more minute to meet her. by the way,
you have a person inside of you, if i
didn't know any better, i would
think that would be a problem
this baby girl is loved and wanted. from the moment the thought of her was conceived in our minds, she was loved and wanted. a part of me is sad because i know one day i will have to give this girl away, and she will belong to her husband and not to me, in the same way i belong to nick now. the thought of that crushes me, because i never want to lose this precious girl. her father on the other hand has taken a more proactive approach, stating "there will be no dating until she's 35".
i will leave you with some prose written by comedian tina fey that made me laugh and smile, but also resonated with me
a mother's prayer for her child
by tina fey
"first, lord: no tattoos. may neither chinese symbol for truth nor winnie-the-pooh holding the fsu logo stain her tender haunches. may she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the beauty. when the crystal meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with beer.
...
lead her away from acting but not all the way to finance. something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels. what would that be, lord? architecture? midwifery? golf course design? i’m asking you, because if i knew, i’d be doing it, youdammit. may she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need not lie with drummers.
grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen. let her draw horses and be interested in barbies for much too long, for childhood is short – a tiger flower blooming magenta for one day – and adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
o lord, break the internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for rape hostel v: girls just wanna get stabbed.
and when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of hollister, give me the strength, lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for i will not have that crap. i will not have it.
and should she choose to be a mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that i may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “my mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “my mother did this for me.” and the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. and she will forget. but i’ll know, because i peeped it with your God eyes. amen."
