For a long time I've wanted to write a special journal, a 'book' on my everyday musings, predicaments, thoughts, written in letter-form for my daughter Sofia. She is my firstborn, the female love of my life, the one who will bring forth all my unrealized dreams. Okay, so I have my issues. Bite me.
I've planned to start this book way before she was born. I had this grand plan of writing down every detail about my pregnancy, her childhood, our family and friends and what was happening in the world as we lived our lives. This book will provide her with a clear picture of her personal history and (more importantly) mine, not just as a mother but as an actual human being, flaws and all. (yes, i said it, flaws.)
I had pictured it in my head...me on my death bed, Sofia beside me looking radiant despite her overwhelming grief over my imminent passing. I hand her a thick worn book. This is for you, my love. (of course there's more of them in some storage unit..obviously not one book alone can cover what i had written since she was a wee one. but i do not need to discuss logistics, do i??)
She gives me this you-are-the-best-mother-in-the-world look, she then tells me she loves me more than I can imagine, I close my eyes, follow the bright light, and yadda yadda yadda.
Of course I'm assumming I go straight to heaven with all my crushes since high school.
Because of who I am, Sofia turned 8 this year and I have not produced a single letter. Not one. Hey, life happened. But I swear I will. I think I will...yes, yes I will.
But just in case I don't get around to doing that marvelous 'letters to sofia' project, I can simply whisper 'extra rice, please?' on my deathbed.
Hopefully she won't literally bring me a cup of hot Asian rice, and will instead figure out how to get to this blog.
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