To my Unborn Daughter,
I believe, that if I were a flower, I’d be very strange. I’d
be the kind of flower that has petals that fall with the flow and break of the
wind.
You, on the other hand, you’re going to be different. Nothing
like your mom in her super weird teenage years, hopefully. You, Unnamed Daughter whom I Have Never Met,
are not going to be a flower.
You are going to be a tree. A big, fat tree, with big fat
roots that are so thick, and so strong that they hold the soil beneath them
like its their throne.
And I’ll be right under your shade to remind you of who
powerful you are. But there will come a time, when you just cant be a big, fat,
awesome tree, and I get that. You’ll feel like enveloping inside of your own
roots and just sleeping in between your soil for a little while, and that’s okay.
That does not make you weak, at all; That doesn’t change who you are.
Know that It’ll pass. And you’ll rise again. You’ll rise so
high up, you’ll kiss the stars.
Yours truly,
Your Unmade Mom.
