You’ll be here in just a few months, and I am pretty excited about it.
I was the first one who knew you were a thing. Beside Grace, of course. That would’ve been weird if even she didn’t know. I’m not psychic, FetusNiece, so stop calling me with your lovelorn crap already. I would make a LaToya Jackson joke here, but you won’t get it and I already feel old.
You are still like an amazing science project to me right now–like a chemistry set autographed by Neil deGrasse Tyson. Sidenote: if you don’t know who Neil deGrasse Tyson is by the time you read this, I have failed you.
Also, your existence means my sister was the first one to have a baby, and is therefore the test subject. Holy shit, is that a load off my ass. I wanted to call you TestBaby, but apparently that’s “socially harmful,” as were the other 45 names I offered. Thank your grandmother for that.
You’re going to be 18 or so before your mom lets you read this, which is a good thing, because by that time you will have already formed your opinions about these people and don’t have to rely on this insanity.
Mom, or to you, Grandy:
Grandy cannot wait for you to get here. I think on the day she was told about you, she ran through the streets of her town with glitter bombs and a T-Shirt cannon with shirts that read, “I’MMA GONNA BE A GRANDMA, MOTHAFUCKAS.” I wouldn’t put it past her on the day you’re born either.
If Pinterest is still a thing when you read this, let it be known that in a side-by-side comparison of Pinterest Boards, your grandmother is having the baby, and not Grace. Mom, who always played it so cool when we asked about grandkids with, “Oh, whenever. You girls get your lives set and then have babies,” lost her goddamn mind the day you came into existence. I’m not even joking–mom bought you that denim A&M outfit you hated so much when you were still a blastocyst and, technically, before she knew you were a thing. That is the level of excitement she has about your arrival–she pre-emptively babied-up. Her closet is half-filled with baby clothes right now, and you are the size of a banana.
Handy though mom may be, I never knew her to be particularly crafty until there was you. Her unbridled joy, enthusiasm, and a healthy dose of Pinterest is the reason you will spend ages 0-9 as a walking fire hazard with all of your handmade tutus. You will never wear a store-bought Halloween costume, you will never be without giant hair bows (admittedly a holdover from our childhood), you will never be bored at Grandy and Grandpa’s. You’re spoiled, and you can’t even high-five yet. To me, this is a waste of a chance to demand awesomeness before you get a reward, but apparently, that’s not how babies work.
I’m glad you’re Grace’s baby, because I sometimes don’t have the patience for mom’s penchant for exuberance (even though I’m often the same way.) I might have crumbled in the face of all that tulle and handcraftedness and wondrous joy for heirlooms, but not your mom–let it be known she is a braver soul than I.
I hope you know that I, next month, will spend an inordinate amount of time preparing for a baby that is not even mine. Next month is shower month. Yeah–shower MONTH, FetusNiece. So many people spread over the entire state of Texas and parts of Louisiana can’t wait for you to get here that it’s necessitating a Tour-De-Fetus spread over a MONTH so that everyone has a chance to be as excited as Grandy is.
Your Uncle Adrian is planning all kinds of nefarious schemes he can bring you in on. He already taught our other nieces how to fight one another, and they’re four, so I can only speculate as to his plans.
Your dad has been waiting for his fishing buddy for so long, and he can’t wait to strap your ass in some maroon and camo and teach you how much the Texas Longhorns suck. He can’t wait to be your Papa. You know he’s been talking to you since before you had ears to listen with–or a heart for that matter? Also, you’re welcoming for reminding you that you were once just a small collection of cells…again. IT’S STILL VERY WEIRD FOR ME, OKAY?
Your Great-Granny cried with joy when she learned about you. Your great aunts and uncles and cousins all whooped. Your dogs wagged. Except for Lilly. Lilly mostly sat in her kennel and held a towel in her mouth, but Lilly is the only deaf and autistic blue heeler we know, so we know that means she loves you anyway.
Your mom and I have been partners-in-crime since we were very little. She’s always been unbelievably funny and smart and loving, and she’s still that way now. You see, some women turn into a smug-assed Mother Earth when they get pregnant, but not your mom.
She approached you like she did everything else in her life–with humor and fun, with deep interest and heart. She laughed her way through baby stores, trying to figure out why you “absolutely needed” a $1000 stroller that we couldn’t work (and kicked into a shelf in frustration). She eschewed the crates-upon-crates of toys and activities, demanding that you learn to be bored and therefore to entertain yourself, because that is the childhood of a creator. She never complained about being pregnant, even though sometimes she was pretty sick and tired of it. She’ll never say it, but I know she spent a lot of time thinking about who you would be and how she could be the best mother you need. What she did for you was for a reason–whether you knew it at the time or not.
Your mom is a hell of a lady. I know you’ll love and respect her as much as I do, once you get to know her better than the inside of her uterus. You’re welcome for that little reminder, FetusNiece. How’s that for an emotional turnaround? UTERUS.
If I’ve done you any good by the time you get to read this, you’ll be funny as hell. I will have demanded you be raised on SNL, Lucille Ball, and The Carroll Burnett Show, just like Grace and I were. You’ll have the self-esteem to walk away from that gel-haired douchebag, and the humility to say Yes Ma’am. You’ll have the bravery to stop someone from bullying another, and you’ll have the gift of helping people laugh when they hurt. You’ll have the strength of your mom to get through tough situations, and the softness of your grandmother when it all falls apart. You’ll have the independence to know when to go your own way, and the bonds of family that you know your mom and I hold so dearly.
I know you’ll be older when you finally read this–so you may think me, and the rest of your family, overly sentimental in this letter. Hell, I’m pretty teared up writing this, and you are still a BananaBaby. I’m writing this because I’m making a promise to you.
You see, for a time, your mom and I had it really rough growing up. A lot of things went really wrong for all of us, and someone came into our lives and stirred everything the wrong way. Had it not been for Mom’s resilience, Grace’s independence, and my uncanny ability to ignore shit, we’d have been destroyed. We very easily could have spent our lives denigrating and hate-filled, but instead, we walked through the fire holding hands. We want to tell you our stories so you don’t repeat the bullshit we dealt with–so that you don’t spend any time trying to rebuild the way that we had to. I give everybody a lot of hell for making such a big fuss about you, but I know deep down, we’re all desperate that you don’t ever have to know the pain we all went through.
Head high, kiddo. We love the hell out of you.
What would you want to say to your kids? Your nieces, nephews, friends kids, grandchildren? What do you wish for your own as-yet-unconceived children?– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Dana The Biped: “See, now I actually *want* a kid just to scare people. Maybe I could borrow one?”