Monday, June 21, 2010

A letter to myself

Dear 18-year-old me,

What is it like to sleep in on the weekends? I no longer remember. It seems like forever since I rolled over on a Saturday and read twelve noon on the clock.

Today after I put your babies down - yes, your babies; two boys, just like you always imagined - I decided the time for a shower was now or never. I started looking for my contacts so I wouldn't be blind and unable to see any spiders that might be waiting to ambush me as soon as I got into the shower. Yeah, still have that phobia. Anyways, I remembered the (nearly) two-year-old playing with the case earlier in the day but was unable to locate said contacts. Besides, they are nearly 6 months old and I can only wear them for a couple of hours before they start killing my eyes. I've been meaning to make an appointment and get a new rX and all that. But the feeding schedule of my newborn has made that all but impossible. I haven't dyed my hair in almost two months. You would be shocked if you could see my roots right now.

I never did get that shower. But with both babies asleep in this quiet house I started thinking about you. I'm trying to remember how it feels to be you again: me, sans stretch marks and a mortgage. Nothing ever turns out the way you think it's going to. Luckily for us it's better than you imagined. Harder in some ways, but also so much more enjoyable; it's a life to be envied.

I just wanted to let you know that. It does get better. It's okay that you have no idea what you're doing. So please stop worrying about it. Everything is going to work out for you. I know you feel lost right now but you're mid-twenties are looking mighty fine. So hang in there.

Love, 25-year-old me

PS. You're not fat. <3

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