Dear Mr. or Ms. Baby,
Four-and-a-half months remain until we meet, yet I'm intimidated by you on every level. The babies and toddlers at church and in stores are all super cute, but I don't want to raise any of them. What if I feel the same way about you? What if we just don't like each other? Really, the day of your birth will be like a first date - exciting, awkward, and with the great potential for a lot of tears.
We know nothing about each other. Will you hate fruit? If so, that's a pretty big deal, I'll have you know. Will you have a closeted fear of television static? If so, I totally understand and we can bond over the evil of white noise. Will you love reality shows? Please, above all things, prefer well-written shows with deep character development and, if possible, subtle metaphors that help everyone view life more completely.
So, I guess we'll have to learn about each other. Everyone says we'll bond, even if it doesn't happen right away. Just promise that you'll like me, despite the inevitability that I'll let you down in some way, whether it involves my eating your special cereal when you're a toddler or you catching me in a lie when you're in high school. Just as you aren't perfect, neither am I, but I'll sure try to love you well.
And that's where I'm scared the most: what if I'm just not a good mom? I like sleeping. Like...a LOT. What are the chances that you'll have a natural love of naps? Baby, of all the gifts you can give me on our "first date," loving naps would be at the top of the list (along with never getting into major accidents or contracting a serious illness).
One thing you don't know about me yet: it's really hard for me to play baby games for long periods of time. It's fun for about 20 minutes and then I want to go read or do anything other than Peek-a-Boo. Maybe I'll want to play more with you, though, since you're MY baby. Speaking of being my baby, how are you inside me right now? And why won't you kick already? We're at 20 weeks, baby. It's time to strengthen those muscles already. Sheesh.
20 weeks. Wow. Up until last July, my body was a purely selfish organism, functioning for my own benefit. Now, everything I put in it has to be evaluated for your sake...
That tuna or cold meat sample at Costco? No can do; the mercury and potential Listeria might hurt you. Open bar at three separate weddings? Ask the bartender, "Hey, make me something super pretty without alcohol." Large bag of leftover Halloween candy? You lose, baby, because I'm totally eating these mini-Snickers. Okay, maybe just three since I don't want you to have diabetes at the age of three.
Really, the diet and alcohol abstinence don't bother me, but the fact that all of these changes are because you're forming inside my uterus is quite frightening. Don't get me wrong; I love being your mother/hybrid for this brief time. At no other time in our lives will you depend upon me so completely. You literally can't survive without me, baby. Ha, who's in charge NOW?
I haven't even touched on my other fears...me going stir-crazy while staying at home more and working less, having you grow up to resent me for whatever reason, you one day dating/marrying a meth addict (if you're a girl, stay away from that Jessie Pinkman - if you're a boy, stay away from that Jane Margolis)...
Mostly, I'm just afraid that I won't be enough for you, that I'll fail you in some way. And there are SO MANY WAYS TO FAIL A BABY...health, exercise, nutrition, sleep habits, mental development, oral hygiene, car safety, safety in general, vision, hearing...
Let's at least agree that I'll also find many ways to love you, baby. If you grow up and tell some therapist, "My mom was a cold, distant woman and never once said she loved me," then you are not only deaf, but blind and immune to the sense of touch. Don't think for a second that I won't hug-attack you every day of your childhood or that I have any qualms about continuing hug-attacks into your adulthood.
Since you'll be a full-fledged baby soon, the most important thing for you to know is that I will...and I mean WILL...poke you. A lot. On the cheeks, on your arms, on your belly. Mostly, your belly. It's your fault, too, for being a baby with an automatically-adorable belly. And so...many...kisses. You'll wonder why this world is full of Kiss Monsters and how the government hasn't done something about them.
So, you terrify me, baby, but I'm glad we'll meet each other soon. While our "first date" won't include a multiple-course dinner with red wine, we can get to know each other over my breast milk and your poopy diapers.
