My sweet bubs,
As of today, we’ve been together 271 days. I figure, by now, you know me pretty well. Lately you think I love, LOVE, being rib-kicked and cervically headbutted as soon as I crawl into bed. I can actually watch your foot as it rears back to give a good boot. Don’t think I haven’t been tempted to carve a small hole with a paring knife into my guts to grab your foot and say “EEEENOUGH.” But I love you. And I don’t fancy any home surgery, so I just watch and wince and hope to Christ you don’t get any stronger over the next 12 days.
But I’ve veered off topic. Something you also well know by listening to me try to string coherent sentences together over the last month. “Um” is my new favourite word. It buys me time to remember what the EFF I was going to say.
You know I’m not very cool. If there is a loud noise outside, I go (run) look for it. If a couple is fighting in public I stop talking and listen to them instead. You know I worry what people think about me. I sweat about being on time. I stand up before I wipe after peeing so I leave pee drips on the seat sometimes. I pee with the door ajar. You know this. You know who you don’t know? Your Pops.
Well, you’ve heard his voice, that low baritone in the apartment. You’ve felt his hand lovingly bopping where he thinks your head is, quickly followed by my “Hey, that’s its noggin!” But there’s so much you don’t know about him. And here’s what I’d like you to know most.
Your Pops can’t make a sandwich but he can make the greatest playlists known to God and man and DJ’s the world over. Seriously. He wooed me with a complete set of hip hop mix cd’s that are still excellent. If there is any cool children’s music existing currently, he will find it for you.
Your Pops will not let you half ass-anything. While you and I pass out in a mound of crepe paper and glue eight years from now, he’ll be up all night finishing your science project for you. He won’t let you be a pussy (but will still love you if you are sometimes – trust me). He will read his comics to you every Wednesday, but you have to promise to not grab, smudge or eat the pages. Or it’s a cold playpen and a dog-eared Archie for you.
He’ll sneak you sips of tea when I’m not looking and will cut up your bites of pizza pops in perfectly square pieces. He’ll fold all your little fingers back and make you give me the finger. When you’re older he’ll take you to whatever sports practice you have a passion for (because I’ve already called NOT IT).
He will watch cartoons with you when I sleep in, and we have some excellent ones for you, bubs. (No Japanimation bullshit and fuck Dora.) Lots of old school stuff with Batman and Superman and Scooby Doo and Pee Wee’s Playhouse to round you out.
He’ll want to keep your hair long, even if you’re a boy. And he’ll show you how to not move your neck when you have a high collar so that your hair stays perfectly in place.
He has some good stories for you. About your great-grandma Biji. About his “science experiments” when he was little. About his friends from elementary school that you will know as your Uncles. About how your Mama can’t admit when she’s wrong, and maybe one time tried to sleep with her pillow on his face.
He’ll teach you how to handle your shit when shit gets scary. How to not be afraid of anybody or what they think of you. How to design a leather jacket. How to listen to rap music. How to google anything. How to use the menace that is Photoshop. How to choose your favourite superhero, your NFL team and your own mug to use until it's cracked and chipped and streaked with tea stains. Most importantly he'll ingrain in you how to respect yourself, and how your family is sacred and always the most important piece of your life to protect and love.
Because he’s such a handsome dude, in fact the best looking guy your Mama has ever met and she couldn't even open her eyes when they did "adult stuff" for like six months, I really hope you get his long dark eyelashes, his dark chocolate eyeballs, and his long toes and fingers. A delicious bonus would be: his metabolism, his strength of character, his attention to detail, and his ability to admonish while simultaneously supporting you.
So, once you slither out of me and occupy your own little space in this world, if you need your Mama, I’ll be in the kitchen making pancakes. You hang out with your Pops for a while. He can’t wait to meet you.