Letters to L

16/08/2012

                   Dear Foetus at 7 weeks



         Hurry up.  You are taking too long in there.  It's only been a week since I found out you existed and it already feels eternity.  The world slows down when something like this happens.  I felt it.  She came over to my house after work the other day, and was all huggy and lovey, but something had been bothering me.  So before she could plant a single kiss on my lips, I thrust a little purple box into her hand, and went back to doing the dishes.  The test that would change our lives.  She grudgingly took it from me, and since that moment, time hasn't returned to normal. 

         I heard the bathroom door click shut, and the tap turn on.  The drip from the kitchen sink and the thumping sounds of the dishes submerged under the water.  I picked up a small cup, almost a shotglass, and I washed it.  The cloth moved over the outside, polishing the glass and pushing the soap back into the water.  Then I used my fingers to wash inside the glass, where the milk stains were, before submerging it back into the water.  It came up clean, and I placed it on the paper towel that I was using instead of a dish towel.  Then I washed another.

         A million thoughts ran through my mind in that time, but absolutely none of them were doubt.  I knew you were there.  I was scared, of course.  I would need to finally step up to the plate and stop living my meagre college student life.  I needed a job, and to start building up a savings account, and to get my licence.  I would need to learn how to change diapers, and help you with your homework and save up for your college education.  I remember a smile came over my face.  I was excited too.

          It is just as well that time slows down, I suppose.  It gives us time to prepare.  Your mom and I aren't ready for you just yet, but we will be, I promise.  I wonder if anyone is ever truly ready for this kind of news.  My mom was seventeen when I was born.  I have eight years on her, a high school diploma and a college education (a creative writing major anyway), and I turned out okay.  And my mom had twins.  We only have... oh god, what if it's twins!

         The door in the bathroom clicked and she came back into the kitchen.  You have the most beautiful mom in the world, I can promise you that.  Blue eyes, and wonderful rosy cheeks when she smiles.  Her hair is curly at the moment because it is long, but she likes it short, and will probably cut it soon.  She has a normally pale complexion, but that day she was extra pale, and it seemed clear that she had been running from the same thoughts as I had.  She held the little stick in front of me and the biggest, thickest, boldest little plus sign I had ever seen was sitting on the front.

         “Wow,”  I told her, drying my hands on my pants.  “That isn't even a little positive.  That's like, fuck you, you're pregnant positive.”

         “I know.”  She sat down on the dining room table, which had no chairs.  I remember the fear in her eyes; far more than I expected.  I looked calm, although I didn't feel it, and I could tell that worried her, because she asked me: “You aren't going to leave me are you?”

         Of all the thoughts that could have come to her mind in this situation.  I walked up to her and held her in my arms.  “I'm not going anywhere.  Not now, or ever.”  Time ticked away while we stood there, and I felt her heart race against mine. I got down on my knees and said my first words ever to you.  “My child.  I will always be here for you.  I will do whatever it takes to give you the life you deserve, and nothing and no one will stand in my way of that.”

         That is all true.  I promise you that.

         Love, Dad.



23/08/2012

         Dear Foetus at 8 weeks.



         We are listening to “Now you're just somebody that I used to know.”  Which is pretty much the most popular song out there right now.  I remember being absolutely appauled at my moms taste of music, so I expect you to laugh at that.  Apparently Justin Beiber and other such garbage are pretty big right now too, but you're mom and I aren't at all interested in that.  We intend to raise you right, on actual artists.  You're mom is nodding as I write this out loud.  She is sitting on my big red leather couch that looks like a porn star couch.  She has the biggest smile on her face and is humming away to Eric Clapton.  That's even before my time, much less yours!  You're mom cut her hair the other day and died it blue, but it turned out green.  I'll take a picture.  You will laugh.

         She just moved in with me, so we can begin to save money for the day you move in.  My rent is $815/month, which I am sure will be peanuts by the time you are 25, but when I have $46 to my name, and no money until student loan arrives in a week, it gets pretty dodgy.  Your mom will help a ton!

         I've been out looking for work every day in the last week.  School begins soon, and I am hoping to get work before then.  Next semester will be busy for me and mom!  It will be tough, but worth it.  I am trying hard to keep mom stress-free and she is working hard to quit smoking.  She is already down to five cigarettes a day, which is much better than she has been doing before you came along!  Don't worry, bud, we will have her off the sticks before you get here. 

         Your mom looked at me strangely when I told her I was writing this letter, and even stranger when I read some of it to her.  It's hard to explain it to her.  She carries you every day.  She falls asleep with you, wakes up with you and shares her food with you.  Her thoughts are your thoughts and she can feel you.  I am just a man.  My part is done, and all I can do is wait and support your mom.  That is hard for me, so I started writing this letter.  It is my way of talking to you, and even though I don't plan to give it to you until you are fifteen, if nothing else, it is therapeutic for me.  I can't wait to see you.

         We are hoping to have some names for you soon, but we are having trouble agreeing.  Until next time!

         Love, Dad.



         04/09/2012

         Dear L

         Interesting fact: the ancient Mayans predicted the world will end on December 21st, 2012.  I have already lived through six or seven apocalypses, so this one seems unlikely.  Either way, I didn't really care if the world ended or not, until your mom peed on that stick.  That is when my world began, and I certainly don't want it to end so early without ever having met you. 

         You may notice that I called you 'L' at the beginning.  That is because we have finally agreed on some names for you.  If you are a boy, we are going to call you Lennon.  That was your moms idea, after her favourite artist of all time, John Lennon.  I said it sounds like a Russian dictator, but she insisted.  If you are a girl, we want you be called Layla.  An obvious throwback to Eric Clapton, but I like the name regardless.  Either way, it is an L, so now you are L.  Beats Foetus any day of the week.

         Your mom is at grandmas house.  Your grandma, her mom.  She has been stressed lately, and I have been too.  So far, no luck for work.  I actually checked my resume to make sure my phone number is correct.  It is, but no call backs.  I suppose it is a bad season.  Your mom quit her job shortly after moving in and is still working on unpacking.  My student loan has still not arrived, so we are living off of Macaroni and Cheese and hotdogs.  It's not a good life.  It will be better by the time you roll around, don't worry.  I will have something figured out by then, mark my words.

         I have finally started writing my novel!  It is very exciting to me, because I have been “working on it” for the last decade or so, but have never had anything written down.  I think that is my biggest weakness in writing.  I get all these great ideas, but I refuse to write anything down until I know the whole story.  I still don't know the whole story, but its about time I got down to business.  I need to thank you for that.  I was out looking for work at McDonalds the other day, and I was so ashamed that I could actually be working there when you come along.  You deserve to be proud of your dad, and you would never be able to do that with me working dead end jobs.  I hope that by the time your first career day comes along, you can bring your best selling author dad to school with you, rather than the professional burger flipper.  I am on the way. 15,000 words in!

         P.S.

         I am now beginning to understand a much understated fact: pregnancy is hard for the man too.  Before every woman on earth tries to rip me a vagina of my own, I will explain.  There is no greater feeling of helplessness.  Your life is completely out of my hands, and there is nothing I can do about it.  Your mom has upped her cigarette count again to deal with the stress, and continues to eat a diet of exclusively salad and bread which is incredibly bad for you, because she claims it helps the morning sickness.  I scheduled an appointment with the doctor, but she refuses to go, which only makes matters worse.  I can't wait until you come into the world so I can take care of you properly.

         Love, Dad.



11/09/2012

         Dear L

         Your mom left me last night, but I am trying to win her back.  She drives me crazy sometimes, it's true, and often my words come out wrong, but I love her very much and don't want her to go.  I came home from another long, unsuccessful job search.  It was 2 in the afternoon and it had been raining, so I was wearing my ratty old coat and boots.  I probably didn't look employable at all, but I've been looking for weeks and no is responding.  When I walked inside, I took off my shoes and immediately stubbed my toe on a box filled with your moms vinyl albums.  I limped into the kitchen, looking for your mom and I was attacked by a cloud of fruit flies attracted by the pile of dishes in the sink and glasses of half drunk juice on the counter.  Walking around the corner, I saw your mom smoking on the balcony.  She was wearing a bath robe, and still had bedhead.

         “Good morning,” I said, perhaps a little too sarcastically.  She grunted back at me and took another drag from her smoke.  I took a deep breath as I watched the ashes fall from the end.  “Did you sleep well?”

         “I thought today was our day together,”  she told me.  “I was waiting for you to come lay in bed with me for an hour before I realized you weren't home.”

         I sat down on a slightly rain-damp chair next to her and looked through the railings of the balcony while I talked.  “I was out looking for work again.  I'm sorry, I didn't expect to be out this long.”  The rain was pooling outside and streams of it were flowing towards the gutters.  “I'm sorry.  Tomorrow, I will be there.”

         I'm not sorry, by the way.  If I had to go back to that day, I would do it again.  Unfortunately, this is another part of the mans role in a pregnancy.  Shut up and say what she wants to hear.

         She saw right through my fake sorry, though.  “Sure.”  She took another puff.  “We need more smokes.”

         A big lump rose in my chest.  “Didn't I just buy you a pack?”

         “No,” she said, wrestling with the math.  “That was...  two days ago.” 

         “How many cigarettes in a pack?”  I asked her, knowing full well.

         “Twenty.”

         Perhaps I was out of line.  After all, she is trying to reduce her stress.  An imagine of a black and charred premature baby flashed into my mind.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but I am sure it was something like: “So twenty cigarettes over two days... What does that come to?”

         The look she gave me was one I've never seen cross her face before.  A dark look, that draws all attention to her eyes, which change shade from blue to a light green that matched her hair.  “I am quitting when I damn well want to.  Not for you, or anyone else.”

         “Not even our baby apparently,” I said.

         I won't tell you what happened after that, but suffice to say, she left me.  Maybe I have said too much.  I am sorry to burden you with this, L, and I'm sure it will all be long over by the time you read this, but I will write down the truth here as it happens.  To tell you the truth, you are all I have to talk to about this stuff.  Maybe one day I will burn these letters so as not to cause you any pain.  Maybe these letters aren't for you at all, but rather just for me, to get all my pain and confusion out.  I don't know anymore.  Either way, I can't wait to see you buddy.  I think it will put all this struggling into perspective.

         Love, Dad.



19/09/2012

         Dear L

         We heard your heartbeat today for the first time.  We had a doppler test at the hospital and heard your little heart going a mile a minute.  It's been around twelve weeks since you've been around, and I've been doing what I do best: worrying.  We were in the doctors office, and she asked us a bunch of questions, and said that there was only about a fifty percent chance of her finding the heartbeat.  I told her that we have all day, and to just find it to put my worries to rest.  When the crackly muffled sound did finally rest on your unmistakable bumping, a bubble rose in my throat and a smile came to my face.  It was like first contact, and all problems melted away in my mind.  It must have been that way for your mom too, because she  looked me in the eyes with a huge smile and mouthed the words “our baby” to me so the doctor wouldn't hear the emotion in her voice.

         So that is the first time that you have brought us back together and it is quite possibly the first of many.  We walked home together and talked things through.  The rain covered up her tears, and quite possibly a few of mine, but by the time we got home we were back in eachothers arms.  She promised she would look for work to help out, and I promised I would stop worrying so much, and try to think that things will be alright.  They will, I know.

         P.S.  Your aunt thinks that you are a girl based on your heartbeat.  I don't know how she can tell, but she says she can.



         15/10/2012

         Dear L

         Your mom had her first ultrasound today.  We finally got to see you!  It was pretty amazing, even though the technician sounded like a Dr. House wannabe.  You probably wont know what that is, so just ask me.  You are a squirmy little bugger that's for sure.  Kicking and punching around inside your mom like nobodies business.  I got some pictures.  You should ask me for them, although they are probably lost in the smoking ruins of Facebook (which I assume has caused the end of humanity as we know it).  The pictures don't do it justice though, they are all blurry and you kinda need to squint to see you, but when watching live, it was clear as day.  We saw your little heart beating, and your spine and your reactions to the nurse poking your mom.  It was funny.  I'm not even ashamed to say my eyes misted up a little watching.  That is you, my sweet child.  The first glimpse I get of you and the one who has already changed my life forever.  I can't wait to hold you in my arms and put you to sleep at night.

         I think vegas odds are something like 12 to 1 that you are a girl.  If you are a boy, don't hate me, but everyone says you look like a girl.  They won't tell us at the ultrasound place, despite my protests, because apparently some people will abort a baby if it turns out to be a girl.  How twisted is that?  I am sure we will be finding out soon enough though.

         Your mom and I are sitting here in the living room mesmerized by the pictures we have.  Once we are done with them, they will be on the fridge for a long time, I'm sure.  So here's to you, Baby L.  We raise our drinks (of coffee) to you.  “Until we see you again, and you can see us back.”

         Love, Dad.



20/10/2012

I love you both very much

         -Dad







25/10/2012

         Dearest L



         Your mom and I broke up the other day.  It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.  I love her so much, and I want what is best for her and you, but we were having so much difficulty being happy.  Money, stress, worry.  Your Mom's anxiety made it so difficult to live together.  I can't find work and I don't think that it's fair I drag her out to Abbotsford with me.  I am sorry for the stress this will cause you, and I am sorry for the stress it is causing your mom.  I hope that one day we can make it work again, but at the moment...

         She moved out today.  Her brother and friends came over to move all her stuff.  She didn't utter a word to me for hours.  Didn't even look at me.  I sat, leaning against the wall in my room, empty but for a mattress, a desk and my computer, holding on to the envelope with your pictures in it, while she and her thugs threatened me to stay out of their way.

         Before she left she came into my empty bedroom.  “I want the ultrasound pictures.”

         I drew them in closer to me and looked into her eyes.  “No, please.”

         “Yes.”  She had a look in her eyes of utter disdain which made me want to cry.

         “You get to carry the baby every day.  This is all I have,”  I said.

         “Give it to me now, or you will never come to another ultrasound, and I won't let you see it after it's born.”

         I was shocked that she would say such a thing to me, the father of her child whom she once claimed to love.  “You can't do that!  That baby is just as much mine as it is yours.”

         “Did you know that in Canada, sole custody is only given to 8% of fathers and 45% of mothers?”  She let her smirk show through.  “I thought that was an interesting fact.”

         I had never known her to be so horrible.  I took one last look at you, and handed her your pictures.  She turned on her heels and left.  She didn't say goodbye.  She just took the envelope and drove away.  You are in that envelope.  All I have of you is in her hands.

         I am sorry, L.  Sorry that I couldn't make things work.  I am sorry that your mom has made things so difficult for us to be father and child.  I am sorry that I have written this, to burden you with things you should never need to know.  And I am sorry that I need to fight over you; because if there is one thing I can guarantee, it's that I will always be here for you and I will do whatever it takes to give you the life you deserve, and nothing and no one will stand in my way of that.

         Love for now and for always:

Dad