Dear Invisible Son and Nonexistent Daughter,
Let’s get straight to the point: I’m not sure I’m ready for this whole parenting gig. When I was a kid, and learned about where babies come from, I told my mom, “I’m never pushing a watermelon out of my coochie!” She chuckled knowingly, as if to say, “Just wait until you’re older.” Well, here I am at 32—still holding onto that sentiment.
I’m writing this letter because, in the not-so-distant future (like when I hit my mom’s age), I dream of having adult children. I want to be surrounded by my fabulous offspring, enjoying birthday cake and hearing you tell me I look younger than I actually am. My dream is to have Sunday brunch with you, Daughter, where I see my habits mirrored in you, and for you, Son, to help me plant flowers out front because, let’s face it, I struggle with plants.
Future Me is already in love with you both, happily settled into our shared life like a comfy recliner. Future Me has gone entirely grey and rocks it, channeling a mix of Ellen Burstyn and Diane Keaton, with a voice reminiscent of Kathleen Turner. Future Me knows that finding you and bringing you home is absolutely the right choice. However, Present Me is still wavering. So, I hope you forgive us for our hesitation.
Right now, I realize I can’t embark on this journey alone. I need a partner—someone I can lean on without worrying they’ll crumble under the weight. Without a strong maternal instinct propelling me, I’ll need that extra support. I envy those who have that fierce nurturing instinct in them.
I’m terrified, convinced I’m missing the “mommy gene,” but maybe finding someone with a “daddy gene” (if that even exists) will help fill in the gaps and create a semblance of nurturing. I have faith I’ll find him—some days more than others, but you know how it goes.
Despite my love for routines and stability, I often feel restless. I once made a spontaneous road trip to Canada just because. I can spend hours alone, writing, reading, or simply floating in a pool of melancholy. I admit it—I’m selfish right now, and I can afford to be.
Giving up my beloved silence and mental space for your needs is daunting. I’m not quite there yet, but I promise I’ll get there. Just know I might struggle. When you arrive, I might forget I’m no longer alone in this world and get frustrated with your constant needs. Forgive me when that happens—it likely will.
I’m truly sorry I’m not ready for you yet. I apologize for being single and bored, for my maternal instincts feeling like a hand-cranked eggbeater on low. Adjusting after you arrive will be a challenge, and I’m sorry for my moodiness, my impatience, and my tendency to snap when social interaction drains me.
I know there will be days when my best isn’t good enough, but I promise to share love, joy, and the art of forgiveness with you both. I’ll be there when you face bullies or navigate self-doubt. I’ll teach you about life’s absurdities, how to dress for your age, and even how to curse creatively.
The more I write, the more it feels like I’m scolding myself. I often feel inadequate compared to others, and that nagging voice tells me I won’t measure up. But if you two came to me feeling that way, I’d remind you that comparison is the thief of joy. Everyone excels at different things, and you are more than the universe ever dreamed of. Remember, showing up to your life is an epic win!
Am I doing okay here? I promise I have a lot of strengths. I’ll be patient and kind when teaching you. I won’t yell if you chop an onion wrong (trust me, it happens). I’ll share the secret to great stone soup, and how to make your room look chic without breaking the bank. I’ll teach you how to confidently eat alone in a restaurant and how to apply liquid eyeliner flawlessly.
Trust me, it won’t always be smooth sailing, and we will mess things up spectacularly. But one day, while you’re making hollandaise sauce or planting tulips, we’ll merge our past and future into something extraordinary and real. And I promise, come what may, I’ll be ready.
Summary
This heartfelt letter reflects the author’s candid thoughts and emotions as they contemplate the journey of motherhood. They express uncertainties about their readiness, the need for a partner, and the challenges of adapting to parenting. The author promises to share valuable life lessons and experiences with their future children, all while embracing the journey ahead, imperfections and all.