So, I have a confession to make to the two of you. I don’t like children very much. There, I said it. Maybe one day, when you stumble on to this particular piece of prose, you’ll be old enough to understand where I’m coming from. Or maybe you could run to your father, who wrote this and ask him point blank (as I hope you will) why I don’t like children, even though I have two of my own. But, that’s a discussion we can have together.
However, I yet have another confession to make. Deep in my heart, I already love you. And I haven’t even met you yet. Every time we look through that ultrasound machine, we see you sleeping, moving around, squashing each other or feel you poking your mother, another part of my exterior shell melts away. I may not like children, but I love mine. I love you. I know that it is likely a chemical reaction in my brain, prompted by millions of years of evolution. Who cares. The heart and the mind feels what it feels.
Before this gets too emotional, I should say that my love is not going to be simply a blank slate for you to do what you want. There will be boundaries, things you must never, ever do. I want you to be good people, kind and caring, be willing to speak up for yourselves and others when wronged. Most importantly, I will give you what you need, as long as you’re willing to take it.
But your mother and I are not perfect and we will make mistakes. Hopefully, these are not the kinds of mistakes that lead you astray, but ones that, once you grow up, you will recognise them for what they are. And understand why we said or did those things, and that you will forgive us.
So, welcome to this crazy, topsy turvy, roller coaster of craziness called life.