I made a crack on Facebook today about the accidental nature of my current pregnancy. Someone commented in response “Wow. I hope your daughter never sees this”, but eventually deleted the comment. Hence the following.
Dear Baby Girl #3,
You may have heard recently that you were an accident. The word has a negative connotation to it, as it is usually preceded by qualifiers like “car”, “deadly” and “industrial”. But all it really means is an unforeseen event or circumstance. You know what else are accidents? Play-doh. Superglue. Velcro. And Post-It notes. Do you know how much the world loves Post-it notes? Before those we used to have to cut little pieces of paper and were then expected to use an entirely separate piece of tape to secure it to another surface! And people were happy with how that worked until a guy put the tape on an existing piece of paper and created a revolution. Billions of Post-its in different colors and shapes and sizes later, the world has never looked back.
You are just like that. You, my dear, are the Post-it note we didn’t even know we needed.
I wasn’t a very happy person in the months before we found out about you. I had a job I didn’t really like, I was away from your daddy and your sisters for long stretches of time, and I was just sad a lot. But daddy and I had a great vacation that made me feel much better. And after we got home I found out that you were on the way. We were really, really surprised. Like more surprised than you will be on your sixteenth birthday when you realize you aren’t getting a car.
We made plans for your big sisters- you don’t need to know the details but we were hoping for them and doing all the stuff parents are supposed to do when they want a baby (it involves wine. Lots of wine). But you, you just happened. And I was a little worried at first because I wasn’t entirely sure I could handle another baby at that moment, but I was excited too. I had left the job I didn’t like and was trying to figure out what to do next. Being pregnant with you gave me something of an excuse for a break, a breather that I needed badly and didn’t know it. You are due to arrive in 24 days as I am writing this, and I can’t explain what the last few months have been like for me. I am a different person. I am happier and healthier than I can ever recall being. I’ve gotten to hang out with your sisters, who I can officially say are awesome and extremely excited about you. Your dad likes me more. I like him more. Even the cat seems less mad at me lately.
So yes, you were an accident. A super-happy accident that I would do over again in a heartbeat. And if anyone ever gives you any grief about it, you have authorization from me to say the following:
“I am the Post-it note of accidents. Now go fuck yourself you ordinary piece of paper with no tape.”
I Love You,