Hey little asshole,
I have Good news!! Today I heard back on a job I’ve applied for to teach online class as an associate faculty member with an online university. This is while continuing to work at my current job in health care administration (which is the subject of the class I’ll be instructing). This is all part of a master plan that involves you. I’ve always said I would not have kids only to entrust someone else to raise them. I myself was a “daycare” kid who had chronic ear infections and clung to the leg of “Teacher Tina” like an emotionally starved orphan. This was only for a short period of my childhood but these memories are some of my most vivid. That and the girl who would pull her pants down when we ran laps around the gymnasium and the boy that always smelled like pee. I was also unhealthily attached to a “blanky” and I remember the staff not allowing me to select a stuffed animal during nap time because my blanky counted as my nap time comfort catalyst… and you cannot over comfort 4 year olds you know! Fuck heads. I also remember older boys messing with me before I realized I was smarter than them and staged a scenario to unfold at the moment my dad was getting there to pick me up… I honestly don’t know what ever happened to those boys because I literally never saw them again.
Anyway, I’ve gotten distracted with the horrors of daycare. The point is little asshole, I want to work from home (teach online full time eventually) so I can be there to raise you. I just graduated with my MBA, so this is a tremendous opportunity and also means I have to go back to school directly after the wedding for a teaching certification and then begin teaching under the tutelage of a seasoned instructor. I will wow them with my brilliance before applying for a fulltime position, this is a perfect stepping stone for me to get some online teaching experience. Everything I do is for you, the future, and to have a comfortable and meaningful life. It’s been a lot of work…. At certain points I think being a full time student, full time professional and full time bad ass has nearly pushed me to lick the walls and cry a little while I’m on the treadmill, but I know it’ll all be worth it. So know this… your mom is smart as fuck. I was a fuck up in high school. Smoking pot, skipping class and barely passing with D’s… so don’t try to tell me how you’re a “bad test taker” or your teacher is sabotaging you. Been there and regurgitated that bullshit all the way to community college. My parents might have bought it, but I won’t. I’m dyslexic; I can’t spell worth a damn. I’m surprised you can read this actually, but I worked hard and I figured it out. Fuck, I couldn’t read till I was 9! You might struggle too; luckily your dad is a brilliant speller and is constantly in the throes of reading and learning new things, hopefully you take after him. Together we’ll help you and set you up for success. Just be warned, the bar is set high little sucker : ) you are not going to be the kid that smells like pee in daycare… I promise.
In order to keep a child’s feet on the ground you must put a little weight on his shoulders (I read that on a sappy pinterest board and it burned into my brain)… I hope your dad and I can figure out the right amount of weight. I hope we can keep you grounded but still encourage you to grow. I hope you have confidence more than arrogance. I hope you know you’re exceptional. I wonder if you’ll know how hard we’ve worked for you or if you’ll care. I wonder if your dad will tell you 100 times that he sold his Harley to remodel the house before you were born. I wonder if you’ll be impressed by all my degrees hanging on the wall in my office. Either way, I suspect you could shit right in the palm of my hand and I’d still think you were adorable. I know we are going to love you. You might be the little bit of softness we need. You’ll be the little squishy mess in what has previously been the picture of order and accomplishment. You’ll be the chocolate handprints on the back of our leather couch… Can’t wait.
-I’m rich bitch.
I’ve come to the decision that I don’t want you hanging out with other little assholes because the majority of children I’ve come in contact with lately are atrocious. They’re monsters. I hope to teach you the tools you’ll need to choose which assholes you want to hang out with. I’m excited for you to get here for a variety of reasons but most of all to see if I can be as good of a parent as I think I can. I’m appalled by children’s entitled, selfish, lazy and disrespectful behavior in general and either I am in for a big shock and the rules from when I was a child simply no longer apply… or parents these days are shit.
I wasn’t allowed to eat endless amounts of sugar, interrupt, tell my mother no, leave my room a mess, skip out on chores or throat punch my sister. I just didn’t do it. I had a fear, a respectable reverence for my authority figures that simply kept me from acting like a fuck head. I was never beaten or starved or locked in a wood shed but I was spanked. I was told when my behavior was unacceptable and what my punishment would be. My parents followed through on discipline and it was not a joke. That same respect and reverence for superiors (that might know a little something more than me) has guided me my entire life. Decisions such as: my choices in education, career, investments and relationships. Nothing was handed to me, nothing was gifted. I have worked, scrounged, negotiated and earned everything I have and I’m sorry little shit head…. So will you.
Fiancé sent me an article today about stretch marks and how they didn’t happen to ruin this one fitness bloggers life and they most likely won’t ruin mine. If he could just take away pain, stress or discomfort from me he would, but in true male fashion since he can’t… he is constantly “fixing” problems that just may not have a solution. I believe he will love me no matter what. Saggy skin and “tiger stripes” as I’m so sick of hearing them being referred to, will not keep him from wanting to fuck me. However, I cannot promise that the insecurity they will bring won’t keep me from wanting to fuck him.
I’ve always been pretty. I may have been awkward or chubby before a growth spurt here and there… but the unattractive times were far fewer than the “too cool for school” times. I’ve always been confident. Big fish in a small pond. Went to private school. You get it. My point is… my identity has always been connected largely in part to the way I look (isn’t everyone’s though?). I was smart enough to know even at a young age that people treated me different because I was pretty. For that same reason I thought from a very young age that I had to always look pretty and stay pretty in order to have people like me or keep liking me. My few heart aches left me thinking that I could’ve changed the outcome with my “desirability” rather than acknowledging poor timing or douchery on the part of my not so significant other at the time (God forbid any relationship failures were my fault) 😉 Let’s shorten this up. I’m vain.
A combination of the above mixed with a lack of education on healthy eating and dieting has resulted in years of being either way too thin or a tad chubby. I’ve just finally gotten my body exactly how I want it since competing in bikini competitions (nationally qualified by the way…toot toot) and I feel I can keep it this way due to the education I received about proper nutrition during prep. This has all happened just in time to have a human go tearing through me. You might say…. Then don’t have one. Then wait. Then shut up. But I’ll be honest, in 5 years I’d rather have a 3 year old than more bikini trophies. That shit doesn’t matter; these are just some frustrated thoughts that are the love child of unfortunate life timing. Upside- I’ve gotten to experience all these amazing things. Optimistic side- I’ll be a super “fit mom” who magically avoids skin tearing, vagina ripping, stretch marking, adult acne producing, boob sagging aftermath… I’m just mentally preparing myself to look like Shrek afterwards with the hope that I’ll be pleasantly surprised.
Terrified of being gross
You haven’t been born, or conceived… You’re an idea at this point. One that fiancé is surer of than I am. I nod and agree, yes yes, we’ll have a baby. Yes yes, right after the wedding. But I’m not 100% confident it has completely sunk in. I know it’s time; I’m almost 29 years old and literally every experience and goal I’ve set forth to conquer in my short and ambitious life has been crushed with success and hustle. I’ve completed my MBA, I have a great job, health coverage, competed and placed in NPC body building competitions, traveled internationally, have a good savings, fiancé and I have a great house and two rentals, my life… is in order. With the exception of earthy paint on the walls and some ridiculous pink carpet in the master bedroom (because fiancé likes to torture me) our home is ready… it just needs you.
I like to be alone. So much. I love fiancé but plan little dates with myself when I know he’ll be working swing shift. I treasure eating dinner in bed, smoking out and falling asleep to the noise of netflix reruns harmonizing with the sweet rumbles of my bulldog’s snoring… its pure heaven. I’m no bum…On average I accomplish what it takes 2 or 3 fully functioning adults to do daily. I keep a clean house, cook from scratch, prep meals, work out once or twice almost every day, get up incredibly early, work a full time job at an administrative level, and have just recently completed my Masters in business with high honors and congruently smashed the aforementioned bikini prep while ALL this was going on (most of what I just listed off was completed in the span of the last 10 months). I’m what you might call- wound tight. And this “me time” I speak of. I need it. You unborn little robber, I need it bad.
I know that the minute you get here, no …the second, everything will change. Fiancé is wonderful and a real team player, but I know that the majority of your care (because I make the milk) along with current house duties, cooking, and full time job will still belong to me after the dust settles. I know that my work outs will suffer; I will eat on the fly due to exhaustion and lack of preparation. I’ll become self conscious about my body and God forbid even resentful of you and fiancé sometimes. I will struggle for balance and I also know… That I’ll succeed. My needs will come after yours (and rightfully so) and most likely after fiancés. But if history has taught me anything it’s taught me that I’m gonna mother fucking rock motherhood. I’ll be armed with love, sacrifice and hard work… and if history has taught me another anything, I also know it won’t be easy. I traditionally don’t start anything I can’t finish or anything I don’t already know ahead of time I’ll be good at. Well… I suspect this is why my fear was conceived and why you haven’t been. I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at this you little asshole.