Dear Baby McFlovin: A Letter at Week 22

Dear Baby McFlovin,

Sweet angel boy, hello. You’ve been growing in me for 22 weeks, and every day that goes by I love you more and more.

I’ve wanted you for SO long. Abstractly, I’ve wanted you since I was, like, 14 years old? Concretely, I’ve wanted you since about six months into my time knowing your father (listen, I’ll teach you about clingy romantic partners later). I’ve been ready, REALLY ready, for you for awhile now and I just couldn’t believe my luck that you came to us so quickly.

I thought the first few weeks knowing you were in there were hard because I thought I couldn’t love anything more than a poppy-seed-sized embryo and it was so hard to know how to protect you. I was wrong, however.  I love the wildly wiggly, one-pound squirmy baby you are now a million times more.

First of all, please keep wiggling. Even when you wiggled while I had a stomach bug and it kind of hurt (okay, it really hurt), I loved it. Every kick or punch or whatever it is you’re doing in there makes my heart smile. I can never get anything done, because I’m always trying to savor your little movements, and I imagine this is exactly what motherhood will be like for the rest of my life (don’t worry, I’m into it).

Baby McFlovin wiggling for all the world to see!

Second, you’re a boy! A boy! The thing is, you were fated to be a boy for a number of different reasons and I knew before we knew that you were a boy. I knew that you would be perfect no matter what, that you would be loved more than my wildest imaginings, and that hopefully, you’d love me just the same.

I’m thrilled you are a boy. But, I’ve got to do some planning because I’ve been spending basically my whole life saving up lessons to teach a little girl. And though gender is a construct and you will be whatever you want to be, you’re not coming out a little girl, but a perfect little boy.

Since I’ve known you were a boy, I’ve been doing some thinking, and here are some things you need to know.

We’re not having any “boys will be boys” nonsense.

Listen, you’re a boy and that’s awesome. But you’re also a human and we will do our best to make sure you’re a decent one. Boys get free passes for rowdy (sometimes rude) behavior all the time. And while I hope I give you a million opportunities to be rowdy when appropriate, I won’t excuse any bad behavior just because you’re a boy.

And look, I know it seems unfair that I’m not putting anything about “precious little boys” or “boys are superheroes in disguise” in your nursery and if you ever have a little sister, her room will be full of “girls run the world” type posters, but it’s okay. You inherently have it easier than girls, so sometimes, things like this might seem unfair. I promise—it’s not.

We’re going to learn to text girls back.

Well, this may seem silly to you, but I read a tweet that said, “Moms, teach your sons to text girls back.” And honestly, that is a perfect thing to teach you.

Because, of course, in teaching you kind ways to interact with others, we won’t just be talking about texting, but how you treat others with respect, even when you don’t particularly want to.

Yes, you do have to write thank you notes and RSVP and open doors for others and be helpful wherever possible, and yes, it gets old sometimes, but I promise it’ll be worth it when you’re a thoughtful, wonderful grown up. Being kind doesn’t mean you can’t be sassy, so you’ll be okay.

We want you to be anyone you want to be.

You’re going to come into this world with two obsessive parents and while most of the time that will be amazing for you, sometimes we might drive you crazy.

We might force you to do things you don’t like, but we’ll never take over your dreams. You can be as different as us or as alike us as you want, as long as you’re you.

When we push you really hard, we’re sorry. We don’t mean to. We promise we just want to help you pursue what you love, whatever that is. Just tell us to chill out and we’ll get it together.

You’re wiggling now, so it seems time for me to stop writing a letter on the internet that will embarrass you greatly someday, and instead, it’s time for me to stare at my stomach impatiently waiting for it to bounce as you move.

Thank you so much for being mine (ugh, ours, I’ll share you with Warren and Ella, I GUESS). I’m so grateful for you and love you more than all the stars and all the moons and all the planets in all the galaxies in the universe.



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