Dear Future Daughter,
I know what you’re thinking. We don’t even know at this point if we’d ever have a daughter. But call it instinct. Call it hope. Call it faith in the God who brought me and my husband together, out of the millions of people in the world, out of the hundreds of nations and countries.
At the very least, if we never have you, this letter could reach another little girl who needs another woman’s words. And even then, I wouldn’t call it a loss of anything at all. I have known some women, who, unable to become physical mothers, have gone on to become great mothers to other women and men around them. They might have adopted, or they might just have been great second mums to their friends’ and siblings’ children. They still filled in the roles that nobody else could.
Well, my dearest daughter, first of all, I want you know that you were and are wanted. Your dad and I want you, although I have to say, your dad wants you with more anticipation than I ever will have. He hopes that you would be like me: adventurous and unafraid, strong-willed, curious about everything, and not afraid to speak my mind to anyone about things that I am passionate about. I hope, however, that you would be more like him: gentle, steady, well-balanced, strong in the faith, and always looking at the positive.
I am afraid of the day when the doctors say with glee, “You’re going to have a girl!” because I know that girls are just biologically more emotional than boys, and I’m not sure if I can deal with too much emotion. After all, I grew up with three brothers, and hung out with more boys than girls in school. I am afraid that I might get quickly annoyed at how long you take to get over things, because once upon a time, it also took me years to get over some things. I am afraid that I do not know where to set the boundaries to protect you but at the same time still give you the liberty to grow. I am afraid because I know that I will never be able to prevent you from falling for the wrong people and liking the wrong things. I am afraid because I know I can’t control who and what you will become.
I am afraid of having a daughter. I am scared of the pain, the turmoil, and the drama, knowing that my teenage years and my early 20’s were full of them. I am scared to be the mother of a teenage daughter, who wants nothing more than to talk about boys and crushes. I am afraid that I will be that mother who “doesn’t understand,” when in fact, I probably know more than I will ever let you know. I am afraid that because I have successfully gone through and overcome all these heartaches and pain, that I will forget how long it took to get there. I am afraid that because I have forgotten the pain of the past, I will be unsympathetic to the heartaches and pain you will be going through. I am afraid that I might not know how to comfort you, and that I might just say, “Get over it and move on.”
I know that “growing pains” only exist because they are evidence of the growth that must take place. But how will I ever figure out if the pain has become too much to handle and that you might be on a dangerous path of no return?
I am afraid that you would become too much like me: too daring, too adventurous, and too curious for your own good. I am afraid that like me, you’d have too many notions of romance, and that you would crave for love from the wrong places and the wrong people, like I once did. I am afraid that you would seek more approval from your peers once you hit your teenage years, and that you would hide who you really want to be and who you really are, just so you would get accepted. I am afraid that you would fall in with the wrong crowd, and that you would choose the wrong friends, who will influence you away from the years we would have spent teaching you about our values and our faith. I am afraid that like me, once the years of turmoil of discovering yourself are over, you would be broken. Or that you would decide that you would rather not walk the same path that we have trained you to walk.
I know that every individual makes his or her own choices, but in this global world, how could I, as your mother, ever have the hope of having the louder influence over the pen of a random stranger writing an article on social media?
I am afraid of having a daughter: I am afraid to have you. I have always been afraid. But I know that if we do have a daughter, everything will be alright, not because of me or any of my life’s worth of experiences, but because I know that even if we haven’t got it all figured out, the living God already has, and all we have to do is trust Him.
I always say, “God will probably give me either 3 daughters, or none, because He knows I am so afraid of having them.” In either case, my daughter, you are a gift to us; you are beautiful, and I will love you with every part of me.
See you soon.
Your future mumma