Open Letter to My Unborn Daughter (or Son)

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Open Letter to My Unborn Daughter (or Son)

Dear Daughter (or Son),

Some people are concerned that I am sharing too many details about you and the way you came to be in my public writings. They worry that knowing too much about your biological father, or knowing too little about him, or having an openly gay mother, or two, will cause you unnecessary pain. I have considered their input and decided to write an open letter to you about all this. I begin by acknowledging that there will be difficulties in your life; everyone has things with which they will struggle. And the world we live in is cruel and unfair and riddled with inequalities you will come to know only too well, because of, but not limited to you being Black, and the child of a lesbian immigrant, a loudmouth, a rabble-rouser, and a dissenter of sorts. Your life will not begin with wealth. And already, the way you were conceived has spurred heated discussions in which strangers and friends alike have shown how complicated it can be human and alive in the information age.

It's been three months since I saw that faint, second-line come in on the home pregnancy test. I'm not sure what I expected, but I certainly did not bargain for this uphill battle against my body. I knew you would change my life. I just didn't know how much, or how lonely it would be to walk this road without a partner. Don't get me wrong. I have no regrets. I would do it all again if it means we get to chart this ever-evolving life together. I am already better for having chosen to begin the journey toward family. Hope has returned to my heart. I am able to better see miracles in the mundane, that there is celebration to be discovered with even the smallest of victories. And each day I wake up breathing, with you fluttering inside me, I am grateful, and seeking ways to pay the feeling forward.

But I am afraid I am not managing the physical aspects of being pregnant well.

Everything inside me in flux; my skin, my stomach, my breasts, my taste buds, my bladder, my emotions, my ability to eat what I desire—every aspect of me has become an unpredictable alarm, threatening to go off at every turn. The only thing that keeps me sane, and able to survive each indignity is how much I want to



Comments [2]

Grace Moon's picture

Thanks again Chin for a

Thanks again Chin for a revealing account of the realities of mommyhood.

 

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Conlite's picture

Please!  No hydrangeas.

Please!  No hydrangeas.