Letter to My Unborn Son
This is almost the fifth time I’m trying to write this letter. FIVE times son. Do you know why? I want everything perfect for you. I usually care less about perfection; at least not with my words, but you, are the one thing in my life that I believe is perfect, and I’m not letting anything destroy it; not even the realness in this letter.
Well, the first day I realised I was carrying you inside me, I was disturbed. No, don’t get it wrong baby. I had mixed emotions about how to go about with you, to ensure I gave you all you would ever want, from comfort within and without, to realness, to love, laughter, to all the things that this world has to offer. I really wanted the best for you and you know what, I can only give you the best by being real with you.
In the next few weeks you’ll get to see the sun. The real sun baby. Its rays will nourish your skin, you will feel them when they touch your soft skin. I really hope you have eyes like mine; the not-so-round pupils, milk white sclera, darkest of eyebrows and inches of lashes that dance to the tunes of the moonlit breeze. It is through those eyes that I want you to see the world, with your own eyes.
Something about eyes son; they see what you allow them to see. They are your vision. They close only when you allow them to. And the best thing about them, everyone has their own pair baby. A PAIR! So, when you get here, I want you to open your eyes and see all you want, stretch your vision beyond the horizons, let your vision penetrate the skies and yonder. Because you know what, sometimes, most times in fact, we become what we see.
Are you lonely inside there? Well, good news is that there are lots of people out here. The moment you get here you will be embraced, you will be labelled all the cute names our language possesses. You will be cuddled whenever you want. But baby, these people at times have different motives, and do you know the scariest thing about humans? You can never know the real intentions of a human.
A section of these humans is labelled as society. Myself I don’t know what society is. I cannot define it per se. Sometimes I think of it as abstract. But I like to think of it as some body that in one way or the other coins out expected rules that you’re to live by. You know what, you’re not tied to any of that shit. I’m sorry I call it shit. Truth is, there will be good times and bad times. Laugh when you can, love who you want, listen to your guts, travel the world, make memories that you will smile at later in life. Be you.
Back to where we were, when am I seeing you? Don’t you think it’s time for me to move from fantasy to illusion? I want to carry you in my arms every day. To smile with you, to rock you, to read your mind even at a tender age. I want to fall asleep with you, to listen to your heartbeat all night. I want to grow with you, to take baby steps with you till we can finally run. I want to watch you fly someday.
I do not promise to be the best mother that the world has to offer. I am flawed, something you will notice the second you get here. I may be damaged a little bit, but I promise to be real with you. I promise to love you unconditionally, to give you the freedom to choose. I promise to let you grow. I hope that some days we will disagree, so that when we finally agree, our love becomes much stronger.
I hope that one day I will look back at the kicks you’re subjecting me to and smile. I hope that one day you will kick something else in this world. I hope that one day, you will read this letter and realise how much I adore you.
I can’t wait to see you.
Your loving mother.
For Penina Kituyi, you have been my best friend since high school, and I know you will be the best mother ever. Congratulations darling.