Letter #2

Hey kiddo, 
Not sure why I feel like writing it, but I think your feet are being stuffed somewhere between my bladder and kidneys so, that might be why.

Anyway; following are some apologies and some not-apologies.
You’ll have to figure out what’s what.


I like to imagine myself doing crafty things, and sometimes I do … but then those crafty things sit there on the shelf and gather dust. They’re generally those things that have absolutely no purpose, but that your lovely father has let me put on the shelf/mantle and every now and again, he comments on how ingenious I must’ve been when creating it.
(Ingenious in this instance possibly means he exact opposite…)

I swear. A lot. You’ll probably be learning language that you’re 18 year old cousins don’t know, by the time your 5. Your father has unfortunately chimed in, saying that having your first words as Fuck  might not be that inconspicuous, so I’m currently trying to replace said word in my vocabulary with something a little more child friendly… I’ll get back to you on how that goes.

Oh, and I’ve had some experience with the Why’s  before.
The questions that begin so innocently but suddenly take a turn for the worst, into the Why territory. Then … it’s all about distraction and ignorance. I’d have to say that if you’re at all good at this game, you’ll quickly figure out how to play my own distractions against me. It’ll be an all out war.

The probability that you’ll have a tall Mum… is infinitesimal.
It’s not going to happen. Unless you’re the same size as me. Which also won’t happen, because your father is high 5-ing Michael Jordan up there in giant land.
So, make your peace with it while you can, and keep your head high. But, if you slouch I will smack you upside the head with the broom… count on that.

And one more thing; I’ve never done this before. Neither has your Daddy-o.
Sure, I’ve had nieces and nephews that are only 10 years my junior, but haven’t really had them for longer than a long weekend. I am slightly out of the loop now, what with the eldest turning 17, down to the youngest turning 8.

You’ll be born into a family of people willing to spoil you rotten and your parents screaming at them all to stop; You’ll be the 6th grandchild on one side, and the first on the others. It’ll be a complete cluster-firetruck,  no doubt … but we’ll get there.

❤ Mumma

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