My Dearest Mommy,
I hope you have time to hear me out because I have a long list of complaints. Yes, I sound a little pissed off because every time I try to talk, I can only hear my voice thanks to all that whooshing of your tummy and the thudding of your heart.
In addition, Dear Mommy, your womb is too dark and has no Netflix and I have nothing much to do except play with this long piece rope that you call umbilical cord.
Yes, I also somersault and practice my football kicking skills on you but the other day I heard you tell someone, "Baby's kicking all day," so I've limited all my kicking mostly to night time.
So for variety, can you arrange for some toys and Netflix here?
The other day at the doctor's clinic, you were wondering why I was sleeping instead of kicking or sucking my thumb or smiling during the ultrasound. Now you tell me, would you like to smile at someone who is poking and prodding at you? No, right? So I pretended to sleep.
Now, for the most important part. Why don't you get my orders right, mommy? I ask for jam with fried rice and you keep avoiding it. Don't listen to daddy when he says jam with fried rice is weird. I love it and your cravings are the only way I can send my orders up since I don't have Zomato or Swiggy here.
Another thing. Why do you keep staring at that strange baby's picture? I know grandma told you that you must look at good-looking babies to get a good-looking baby, but you know what? Have faith in your genes. Daddy and you were cute babies so be rest assured I'm going to be cuter than both of you put together.
But allow me to say that you take very good care of me, mommy. I love the way you take your vitamins on time, go to the doctor on time and always wonder about my well-being. You even quit coffee for me and that's a big thing. To be honest, I started my letter with complaints but actually, I want to apologise.
Sorry that you had to throw up and feel sick in the first few weeks because of me. Sorry that you can't wear tight jeans or high heels anymore because of me. Sorry that you have to stop eating certain foods because of me. Sorry that you have to get prodded and poked at the doctor's because of me. And sorry in advance if it hurts too much during delivery.
I can't wait to see you mommy. I don't think life will be easier with me but I know it will only be full of love and learning. Let's try to understand each other better as you will be my only anchor in the big, bad world outside. I love you, mommy.
Now, please work on that Netflix and fried rice with jam request seriously.
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The Word Salad is the brainchild of Preeti Athri, Rhituparna Mitra and Priya who whip up content for several platforms relating to Parenting, Lifestyle & Relationships.