At this point in my life, you are nonexistent. I can’t say that I don’t think about you, because that would be a lie. I can’t say that I haven’t thought about you for years, either, because that would also be a lie. I’ve thought about you before it was even physically possible to have you.
But oh, have I thought about you. I’ve thought about whether you’d be a boy or a girl, what you’d look like, who your father would be, if he’d be in our lives, if you’d have siblings, who your favorite aunt or uncle would be. I’ve thought about just about everything at this point, and yet, you are so far from being born, I’m still at a place in my life where I question whether or not it’s even possible for me to have you.
Long story short, if I do, it’s going to take me a while before I get to meet you. And the most insane part of all of this is that I’m pretty sure that I already love you. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl myself; playing with my baby dolls, pretending they were real. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known that I wanted to be a mom more than anything else in this world—so if and when I get to finally meet you, I know I will cry tears of joy, as well as relief.
I know I sound crazy, baby. At most times, I still feel like a child myself, so why am I talking like this?
Because, well, it’s the truth. I think about you, and I have all these ideas about and for you, and I’m not even emotionally ready to have a kid at this point in my life. Weird.
But enough about me; I have to tell you something—something I want you to carry around with you for the rest of your life. Are you ready? Because this is important stuff I’m about to lay on you:
Until it does, nothing matters.
Maybe that won’t make any sense to you when you read this, and maybe it won’t for a long time. But, eventually, it will. It will make all the sense in the world to you. And when it does finally make sense, that’s when you’ll have exactly what you need to be happy.
Wow, talk about crazy. I’m supposed to be giving you advice, and yet, here I am, giving myself some as well.
I grew up thinking everything mattered. The way I dressed, my grades, blending in with the crowd. I thought all that stuff mattered, for some wild, unknown reason. It was important to me to keep all those little things in mind.
When in reality, they don’t. Not much matters, really. At the end of the day, the cars we drive, the size of the houses we live in, and whether our collars are white or blue don’t mean anything.
People do; and experiences do, sometimes. And it will be people, yourself included, who will teach you to understand that.
You will learn who matters to you, and who prioritizes you. Who you matter to, and who you find have become your priorities. These people will care for you, care about you, make you feel alive and wanted and one-of-a-kind. And that’s because you are.
And I think you will find that everybody is, in their own way. Some will just shine a little brighter in your eyes, and it is those that will become your whole world. You just have to take your time to figure it out, because most of us don’t see it immediately. For a lot of us, it actually takes a long time to realize what makes life worth while, what truly matters.
So I just want you to keep that in mind. I hope that you become someone who is kind and thoughtful and doesn’t hesitate to chase your dreams, but I also want you to always have that little thought running around your mind: until it does, nothing matters.
I can’t say that I want you to know exactly what you want out of life, because hey, it’s a rarity when somebody does, but I wish that you won’t have to struggle as much as the rest of us. And I hope that what I will have to share with you helps. I guess that’s all parents can really do for their kids after a certain point: hope for the best. So that’s what I’ll do for now.
Prompt: You have a child, and you have written a piece of advice that will be carried in his/her pocket for life. What is it?