They say a mother should become the first school for her child(ren). Well I’m not sure if I can teach you many things, because parenthood is never an easy game and I still have a lot to learn myself.
So I was thinking about making my school easier. Instead of me being the wise owl who gives you majestic advices, I think it’s better if we have a discussion on my stories. I want to share with you my opinions and views, or my experiences, or even my mistakes. Anything we can learn from. The problem is, we can’t really do it now. There are subjects that need to be responded not just by “jajaja” or “bababa” or cries or a smile that melts my heart. But by the time you’re old enough to understand my stories, I’d have forgotten everything. Believe me, Son, I did try to keep a paper-based journal about you but my handwriting was so ugly it’s an eyesore just to look at it. Those kinds of notes are easy to get lost or damaged and you know I’m sloppy like that. Plus, they aren’t very eco-friendly.
So let me write to you through this blog. Every time I have a chance. I might not be doing it every day but I will try my best to do it as often as I could.
I am an awkward, inexperienced mother. Don’t expect too much astuteness from my stories. I do hope to tell you some deep, meaningful life lessons, but alas, I like trivial things. The only thing I aim to do is share my thoughts. It can be surprisingly useful or it can be a piece of outdated crap. You might agree or disagree with me. You are also allowed to think your mother is a weird woman and feel sorry for your father.
At the end of the day, My Dear Son, as you grow older, I just want us to have a good talk as much as possible. I want you to correct me if I’m wrong before I get too old and stubborn (well I’m stubborn now, but your work will be harder in the next 20 years). I want us to communicate. I love you and I want you to be a good person. And just in case I die sooner than medically calculated, at least you get to know me from what I wrote.
Enjoy your time being a baby. Life as an adult won’t let you sleep as much as you do now.
Your not-yet-decided-what-to-call mother.