Letter 3

Dear Peapod,

As you will know by the time you  (hopefully) read these letters, you were my first (and if the Lord doesn't give me anymore, my only) child.  I knew naught of what it would mean to be called, 'Mom.'  I mean, I knew the basics: change you when there's an abhorrent odor reaking from your body and/or diaper, give you a pacifier (or passey, or Nuk, or BaBa, or plug, or whatever the darn think is called) when your screams fill the air, bathe you when I can no longer tell the color of your skin, and hold you when you need to be comforted.  But all that aside, that's not the true definition of 'Mom.' Anyone can do those things--even your uncle that is deathly afraid he will break you if he looks in your direction.  No, so far what I have learned about being a 'Mom' is this: it is a lifelong role that I will always question and has nothing to do with the fact you sprouted out of my body.  I will be one of the primary peeps to shape your life, so I have to live a life that's worthy of shaping you.  Not only do I get to be the lucky one to comfort you, I have to recognize when you need to be comforted and when to allow you the freedom to declare your independence and soar to your own heights.  Not only do I get to change you and bathe you and replace the scream stopper, I am charged with teaching you how to make the decisions of when and how to bathe, what and how to dress, and when to open and close your mouth to defend your beliefs.  If I've learned anything from the mothers before me, it's that regardless of biology, and who is termed as giving birth to a child, a Mom is so much more.  I hope in your eyes, I'm worthy of that name now and throughout our life together.

I love you my future president!

Mom