Apology Letter to My Future Children

To my future offspring,

Hello. It’s your mother. Right now, I’m a young, vibrant, spunky nineteen-year-old – or at least that’s what I write whenever I have to describe myself. You have yet to ruin my stomach from scars due to c-sections (sorry there’s no way I’m pushing anything out of my vagina). And my supple skin has yet to turn to leather. I’ll bet $20, though, that the cellulite situation on my thighs has stayed the same.

I sit and write this to the three of you – please tell me I was able to have three children! Or at least please tell me I have children (I will not digress into my underlying fear of not being able to bear children). Two girls and a boy, preferably – just like my family. All two years apart. That’s beside the point.

However, the first thing I want to say to you, even 10 years (ideally) before I meet the first one of you, is that I’m sorry. You now have it in writing that I, your mother, am in fact apologizing for the things I will not be able to provide you all with. At this moment, I have no clue what I am going to be like as a mother. This apology is purely based off my assumptions I have concerning the future me.

First apology: I am sorry if you all have no athletic genes WHAT. SO. EVER. We can only pray that your father could at least run a mile… and only have to stop once to walk. The only reason I have a varsity letter from crew is because the team was so small, I automatically made varsity. I’ve been milking it ever since.

Second apology: I am sorry for the food I cook. I am sorry if I can’t even boil the water for the spaghetti I attempt to make. I never really learned how to cook. I should have taken my mom and Nana up on their offer when they wanted to teach me how to make the super, secret, special Berdy family gefilte fish. **

**It’s a mixture of grounded up deboned fish, such as carp or whitefish, garnished with a slice of carrot. Actually you should thank me for this. You don’t want it (sorry Mom, sorry Nana, sorry to the rest of the Berdy clan).

Third Apology: I am sorry I do not have a fast metabolism. We may be a bit of a fleshy bunch, but on the upside, we won’t be cold in the winter! (Hopefully, we’ll be living somewhere in the northeast anyway.)

Fourth Apology: I am sorry for the time when I succumb to your incessant pleas for a dog. But I’m warning you now: When you are all grown up and out of the house, do not be surprised when I coddle our puppy. The dog will be fed human food, sleep in bed with me, be pushed in a stroller, and possibly be given his or her own baby blanket. I am sorry if at times it seems that I love the dog more than I love you all. I don’t. But our dog is going to be so fucking cute. Who could blame me?

Fifth Apology: I am sorry that I pushed you all to do countless hours of dance and acting classes. I’m just trying to live vicariously through all of you. It’s my dream to just be able to break it down in an insane hip-hop routine featuring tWitch (from “So You Think You Can Dance” for all you non-believers) or do a gorgeous pirouette. Or be the next Meryl Streep. But I don’t want to put any pressure on you all to live out the dream I have failed to achieve. You won’t disappoint me with your lack of talent or perseverance to continue taking classes. Seriously. NO. PRESSURE. I can’t judge. I quit jazz after a subpar dance performance to “The Locomotion” in first grade.

I’m not just speaking for myself when I say we all want to be good mothers. Ask your friend sitting next to you (unless she says she doesn’t want any children…. just drop the conversation at that point). I know the one thing I don’t have to apologize for though. I don’t have to apologize for the insane amounts of love I will have for all of you. I will love you three all unconditionally and equally– even if only one of you happens to be a dance prodigy.

Love,
Your hip and still cool mother, Allie.

Image via.