It’s me. A while back, I wrote you a little letter to bolster your sense of awesomeness in the face a Facebook feed being overrun with blurry shots of overwrought engagement rings and photo albums depicting the minutiae of every wedding detail of every Big Day from best friends to acquaintances to outright strangers. And even though I went ahead and got married, it’s still okay to be single.
But as we all know, once the last bridesmaid has donated her dress to the Goodwill and the last gift has been purchased off their registry (yes, I am always the latest gift-giver), there is only one more thing to do: turn that bride into a mother. As people in the world, we owe everything to this natural circle of life. As women with Facebook accounts, sometimes we’re just more interested in Ryan Gosling memes and pictures of foods our friends have eaten than we are in ultrasounds and diaper talk.
And that’s okay.
Because having a baby isn’t just about baby showers where people give you adorable things like little onesies with ruffles on the butt. It’s about ushering a new life into this world. A new life whose wants and needs are going to interfere with that Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon and your weekly yoga schedule. It’s not just about photos of tiny, chubby fingers with impossible tiny fingernails wrapped around your entire pinky finger, it’s about a real, live being who is way more of a commitment than the dog you almost adopted off the Internet after that one breakup. It’s not just about picking an androgynous name that perfectly summarizes just what a unique little snowflake you’ve created, it’s about realizing that after ten minutes in your house, your two-year-old nephew somehow got his hands on a screwdriver and two nails and everything about your house makes it a baby death trap.
It’s okay to like your life exactly how it is: to come and go as you please without thinking about whether or not you have a pacifier stuffed into the bottom of your purse. To stock your fridge with only beer and expired milk. To love every moment that you have alone with your boyfriend, your husband, or your own bad-ass self. To unsubscribe from people who post fifteen photos a day of their baby sleeping, and to go ahead and be the person who posts 30 photos a day when you have your own nugget.