My dear, I just love you to little bitty pieces. You are my sun and my moon and all that crap.
It would be really super, sweetheart, if I ever saw you.
Somehow I think that actually, you know, physically seeing someone might be the key to a happy marriage. I’m uncertain if there are any studies to this effect, but I can check on the internet if you’d like.
I understand/respect/appreciate how busy you are and how hard you work. Honest and true, I really, really do get it. I could spend weeks and months and years telling you how glad I am that you actually have a job and that I know that some men don’t get off their lazy butts and work and it’s cool that you are not one of those people who act like that. That I know you really are dedicated to your work and your employees and that you really want what is best for everyone. I love that about you, honestly I do.
But honey? I need you to come home.
I need you to be at soccer games and karate class and end of the year award ceremonies. I need you to help with homework sometimes (especially when it’s math. You know I suck at math!). I need you to sit on the couch and watch television with me. I need to wake up at 2am and know you will be beside me, not frantically working on paperwork or stressing out, smoking cigarette after cigarette because you are so bummed about work-related issues.
I need for you to be able to get to a point in your work that you can say, “This is good enough,” and then come home.
I miss you. There is also the potential for dirty things to happen, should you, you know, be here.
Dear person who thinks I am their friend and really, I can take them or leave them, who is pregnant,
Despite my glaring faults in regards to personal fertility, I have managed to be happy for you and your ever growing fetus.
However? Most of the time, I want to smack you unconscious.
While I understand that smacking a pregnant woman unconscious is not only mean, it’s possibly against the law in this state, I still have the strong desire to do so because of your constant whining and complaining regarding this pregnancy.
Sweetheart, everyone gains weight while they are pregnant. Seriously. I promise. You have a person inside your stomach. Did you really think that this person would not take up any room in there? You weigh like, twelve. There has to be somewhere for this kid to go and he can’t grow inside your leg or something. It has to be in your stomach and therefore, your stomach has to expand. Didn’t you take health in sixth grade?
Also, this is not the 1800’s and women who are pregnant really have no cause to lie around like third base. I promise, swear to you, friend who is not on bed rest and has had a perfectly normal, healthy pregnancy, you will not physically keel over and die if you have to get your own glass of water. Really. I am willing to pinkie swear on this subject, that is the level of confidence I have in the statement I just made.
In addition, while I sincerely do appreciate your focus on natural childbirth and not having an epidural and whatnot, I really don’t think it’s necessary to advise a lady you have never even met that she was an “idiot” for having an epidural. I really thought she might bitchslap you and frankly, I probably would have just let you fall down at that point. It is not your business to dictate the birth plans of other women. It’s just not. Yes, you can do your own research, and yes you can make your own decision regarding the subject, but really, forcing your ideas on random people you meet on the job-site? I just wouldn’t advise that. Especially to that big old girl from Tennessee that you were spouting off to. I really think she could have taken you.
I also need to let you know that no matter how many books you read and no matter how knowledgeable you are on the subject? You have no idea what you will do until it is staring you in the face.
Also? Given the fact that you are so lazy you can’t walk six feet and get your own glass of water and that you complain when you have to carry two paperback books to your car? I’m just not sure you are the kind of woman who can endure a birth without any painkillers. Because, again, clearly you have not had sixth grade health class so I feel it’s my duty to inform you that the baby? It’s actually going to come out of your vagina. And since that hole is really small and the baby is not going to be so small? It’s probably going to hurt pretty bad. At some point you might shout for God and Jesus, that’s how bad it’s going to be. So just, you know, keep that in mind before you get all uppity about not wanting drugs. Okay?
As a final note? I’m totally nominating your husband for Sainthood. He deserves it for putting up with your nonsense. I guess I’ll have to look up the Pope’s phone number or whatever.
Love or whatever,
Dear People who use the internet to be anonymous bullies:
Get a freaking life for the love of God and Baby Jesus.
For Lord’s sakes, could you knock it off?
Go to hell and die.
Dear little girls in my Brownie Troop,
I love you girls.
You are brilliant, wonderful, funny, sweet, and beautiful people. I’m going to tell you a secret that maybe your mom’s have not yet told you.
Your life can be so much better than this. There is more to life than this.
You don’t have to grow up and marry someone when you are seventeen just because you feel like you need something to do. You don’t. You can go to college. You can get a job. You can write books about wonderful things and far-off places. You can live anywhere on this planet that you want to live. You can support yourself and buy your own house.
You don’t have to do anything with a boy to make him like you. If he doesn’t like already, then he’s not worth your time anyway.
It is normal and natural for you to have a stomach. Normal women do not have stomachs which are concave. It is not normal, or pretty, to look like you are starving to death. Don’t ever let any television program or magazine make you believe it is.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you, “You can’t”. Don’t ever let anyone tell you, “Girls can’t”. I have seen you in action and you can. I know that you can.
Do not be like me, at seventeen, and believe that there is nothing better than this. Do not believe that you aren’t valuable unless some boy loves you. Do not believe that you are stupid at math or science. Do not believe that you can’t get into college and even if you could, you aren’t smart enough anyway. Do not believe that this is all there is to life. Do not wait until you are twenty-seven years old, divorced, with two little kids to begin to find your place in this world. Do not believe that there is no one in this world who believes in you. I believe in you.
Please believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.
As for the rest of them? I proved them all wrong. You can too.
Your old Troop leader