Hey there, my dear invisible son and non-existent daughter,
I’ll be honest right off the bat—I’m not sure if I’m suited for this mothering gig. When I was a kid and learned about where babies come from, I told my mom, “There’s no way I’m pushing a watermelon out of there!” She just chuckled, saying I’d change my mind eventually. Well, here I am at 32—and nope, still not feeling it.
I’m writing to you because, someday (when I’m older and a bit wiser), I want to have adult kids. I dream of sitting at the head of a table, surrounded by you two, as you serve me birthday cake and insist I look way younger than my years. I envision Sunday brunch with you, Daughter, where I see my quirks reflected in you, and Son, I hope you’ll help me plant flowers outside since my gardening skills are more like a black hole of doom.
Future Me is already head over heels for you both, lounging in the comfort of our shared life like a cozy chair. I can picture myself with fabulous grey hair, channeling some Ellen Burstyn vibes, dressed like Diane Keaton, and speaking with the raspy charm of Kathleen Turner. Future Me is convinced that finding you and bringing you home is the best decision ever. But Present Me? Well, I’m still figuring things out, and I hope you can forgive me for that.
Right now, I know I can’t do this alone. I need a partner—someone I can lean on without worrying they’ll crumble under the weight. Without a solid maternal instinct, I’m a bit lost, and I envy those with that innate drive. I often wonder if finding someone with a “daddy gene” (is that a thing?) might help me find my nurturing side, and I have faith that I’ll find that special someone—though some days, it’s harder to believe than others.
As much as I love my routines and my stable life, there’s this nagging restlessness inside. I’ve driven to Canada on a whim, and sometimes I just vanish for a bit, leaving the cat a little overfed. My free time often revolves around solitude—swimming in my own thoughts, writing, or just floating in a pool of melancholy for no reason. It’s kind of my thing, and I know I’m selfish right now—I can afford to be.
Giving up that silence and mental space for your needs will be a challenge. I’m not quite ready to share it all, and you deserve nothing less than my full attention. But I promise I’ll get there. Just know, I might slip and forget that I’m not alone anymore, and I might get frustrated when you need me all the time. So, if that happens, forgive me in advance—it’s bound to occur.
I’m sorry I’m not prepared for you yet. I’m sorry I’m single and feeling a bit stuck, and my maternal instinct feels like a hand-cranked eggbeater that’s barely running. The adjustment period after you arrive is going to be a challenge for me. I apologize for my mood swings, my jealousy, and the fact that I can’t keep a secret to save my life. I can embellish stories unnecessarily and get snappy when I hit my social limit. I can be impatient, huffy, and obsessive.
I’m sorry that even though Future Me has a clear vision, Present Me is still figuring it all out. I promise I’ll do my best, even if some days my best isn’t enough. But there will be laughter, love, and lessons along the way. I’ll help you navigate bullies, depression, and all the awkwardness that comes with growing up. We’ll explore life’s quirks together—how to dress for your age or creatively curse and flirt.
As I pen this, it feels a bit like I’m scolding myself. I often feel inadequate compared to others, but I need to remind myself that everyone shines in their own way. Someone wise once said that comparison steals joy, so I’ll work on being good at my own thing, without turning it into a competition. You are more than anything the universe ever dreamed of, and just showing up each day is a monumental win.
So, am I doing okay here? I should probably wrap this up and get back to what I was doing. Staying on task is another challenge for me—prepare for that one!
I promise I’ll share my skills with you. I won’t snap at you while you struggle with chopping onions or squashes. I’ll share the secret recipe for great stone soup and help you create a stylish room on a budget. We’ll learn how to knit, navigate conversations, eat alone without looking too sad, and more. I’ll teach you that reading is sexy, listening is essential, and honesty is key. Fear is a part of life, but I’ll show you that the only way out is through.
It won’t always be perfect or fun, and we’ll mess up a lot. But one day, one of you will be making hollandaise sauce while the other plants tulip bulbs, and that’s when the present and future will collide in the best way possible. And even if I doubt myself now, I believe that when that time comes, I’ll be ready.