Dear Baby Z,
Happy 12-12-12 kiddo! It’s been pointed out to me that today is the last repetitive date that I’ll see in my lifetime…but possibly not yours! The next time three numbers will align as they did on 9-9-09, 10-10-10 and 11-11-11 will be January 1, 2101 (01-01-01), and you will be nearly 90 years old. So I write this letter to your 90 year old self. (Did I just blow your mind?)
My dearest hope is that by the time you’re 90, you will have lead an amazing, fulfilling, thoughtful life filled with 90 years of love, laughter, and happiness. I hope you’ve lived a life that you’ve imagined and a life that you’re proud of. I hope you are surrounded by people who love you as you are. I hope you’ve remembered to wash behind your ears, open doors, use correct grammar, eat well, travel when you can, make wise choices, learn how to fail gracefully, and not only sleep when you can, but to dream big.
But most of all, I hope you remember me as the best Mom in the entire universe.
(Just kidding. Sort of.)
I hope you know that I feel so fortunate and proud to be your Mom. (Unless you’ve become a sociopath or a serial killer, in which case, I take the aforementioned sentence back.) I know at 90, it’s probably no longer appropriate for me to refer to you as my Baby Z, but I will probably always think of you that way for all of your life. If my own mother taught me anything at all about motherhood, it’s that a major part of my job is to make sure that you suffer complete and utter embarrassment on my behalf from time to time. I hope that I’ve succeeded.
I can hardly believe that in a few short weeks, I will be able to hold you in my arms for the first time. Your Dad wants to be the first to hold you, but I’m putting my foot down on this one. I’ve earned to right to be the first to hold you, dammit! Even as I’m typing this letter, I can feel your (sharp) elbows and knees poking against my belly. You are so very, very active these days that I’m worried that you hate sleeping already (your Mom’s favorite activity). Sometimes when I feel your little feet poking out, I like to put two fingers against my belly and pretend that I’m ticking your toes. You’d make a fluttering movement, and I like to imagine that you’re laughing and kicking your chubby feet around in glee. It’s a private game we play together, and I must say, I’m going to miss these little moments the most when you’re out in a few weeks.
Happy 12-12-12 and 01-01-01, my dear baby boy. Whether inside or outside, I’ll always carry you in my heart.