“Family, whether born or forged, is life.”

(*Author’s note: This post first was published via TinyLetter on July 12, 2015. It has been lightly edited for Medium.)

When I first started to share the news that I was pregnant, and when I first started to show, well-intentioned advice rolled in immediately from both expected and unexpected sources. With family and friends, I assumed it was coming. But firmly-held opinions about babies and mamahood also were imparted by strangers: a gap-toothed, wild-eyed man on the bus; the woman behind the intimates counter at Macy’s; the tiny white-haired clerk at my favorite pastry shop. At 30 weeks today, with a growing belly clearly announcing my impending parenthood, I expect it will not end, but increase.

Growing up, I never thought I’d be a parent — but now that I will be, I have my own ideas about what it means to be a good one. I’ve thought a lot about parenting in general and being a mama, although this is my first pregnancy and first (perhaps only) child. I hold firm thoughts about what kind of person I want our child to be — not in specific terms, like a congressperson (please no) or an engineer (give papa a run for his money) or a teacher (among the noblest of professions).

Rather, my hopes are bound into character, and forming a strong yet flexible one within the life I’m growing — the life my husband and I are anxious to nurture soundly.

So I knew immediately which task I would elect to undertake when Elle Luna and The Great Discontent announced a renewed 100-day project, which started on April 9 and will end on July 14. I participated in Elle’s community project last year as well, writing a poem every day and creating my own 19-syllable, 5-line structure. I knew the project’s rigors and how to choose something that would resonate strongly and personally enough to keep me going for its duration.

To that end, I chose to write a letter to my child every day — one that would impart a lesson, advice, or experience to help shape a beautiful soul. I wanted my words to be timeless but present. I planned to encompass the powerful traditions of honor and service, kindness and compassion in posts like “Fight fairly,” “Say thank you,” and “Build a good name,” while also incorporating slightly cheekier missives like “Eat a donut” and “Jump in rain puddles.”

To date, I think I’ve succeeded. The body of work I’ve amassed is sentimental, true, because it’s rooted in my experiences as a human to date — the things I’ve learned, the mistakes I’ve made, and the pains I hope to encourage our little one to avoid. Other pains, I hope, are experienced, and reflected upon — because I have found some of the clearest opportunities to shape my best self in the messes I’ve made and the stains I’ve spilled. I would not wish otherwise for my babe.

The project remains private. I began writing 100 Letters in this way so I would not be shaped or swayed by anyone’s likes or critiques, tweets or posts, favorites or reblogs. I remain committed to that mindset. After I post my last letter, my words will undergo a thorough editing and perhaps some rewriting, and then I will open it to the world.

My husband and I have talked about making this into a book — for ourselves, and for our child to have on reaching an age where the lessons might make sense, be digestible, palatable. The future will unfold whether it moves beyond that.

With you, I want to share one of the most important posts I’ve written for 100 Letters — “Family is life.” I will let the post speak largely for itself, but I find this particularly resonant in this space because the little tribes and communities I build online are very much family to me. I share things with you that I likely would not have shared elsewhere, had these outlets not existed. I have done so for nearly 17 years. It never gets easier — I still waffle and bite my lip before peeling back the curtain on tender moments and uncertain thoughts — but I understand how important it is to do so. To tell a story, to share it well, and if I’m lucky, to nurture the seeds it plants.

I hope this roots lightly in your soul. I hope it grows there and takes on a new life of its own. I hope you share it with others who might need a little tenderness, too.

With love and gratitude,
Mari.

“Family is life”

As I write this, I’m watching a steady stream of well wishes pop onto an Instagram photo where I’ve just posted news of your coming. People are writing kind comments and messages of support and love. I can’t stop smiling.

I am 20 weeks and 3 days along. You are pressing on my sides and kicking against the front of my belly. I no longer fit into my regular clothes; I’ve swapped out fitted henleys and skinny jeans for flowing tunics and maternity pants.

There is not a moment I do not think of you.

In February, your great-grandfather passed away suddenly of a stroke. I was 8 weeks pregnant at the time and struggling with all-day nausea and exhaustion. When your father got the call from his father, I knew something was wrong. He walked toward me in the hallway from the dining room to the living room, where I had been sitting, and said, “Tito died.” And then he hugged me as we both cried. We loved him so, and we were planning to share the news about you in just four short weeks. Now we felt engulfing sadness not only at Tito’s loss, but at the thought that he would never even know about you.

We immediately spun into a series of tense actions — booking airfare to fly to New York to attend the services and be with loved ones; doing laundry; packing; lining up a cat sitter. It was hard, but we pulled it together and got on a plane the next morning. We spent the next few days with family and a wide circle of friends, consoling one another, sharing stories, laughing, crying, and finally, rejoicing — because we told the rest of the family about you. We wanted to share the good news with those grieving, and the broken but heartfelt smiles on everyone’s faces told us we had made the right decision. In fact, I watched people arrive at the funeral home looking downcast, but perking up and smiling when they saw me, mouthing “Congratulations!”

The joy did not overrule the pain; it shone alongside it, the ragged blue undulating into shades deep and light. This is who we are. This is who you will be: family.

As we headed home from New York, I snapped this photo of layered sky over Lake Michigan and wrote: “Family, whether born or forged, is life.”

You are lucky, my sweet child. You will be born into a combined family that is powerful in its love. It is big and messy and complicated and simple all at once. It will support you and take care of you. It will pick you up when your car breaks down and help you when you’re moving into a new apartment. It will attend your graduations and recitals and art openings. It will offer you praise and a critical eye as needed. You will not be coddled, but you will be loved.

Likewise, the family you choose will take shape as you grow. It will be made of friends around the world who will do all the above for you, and maybe even more. They will love you for who you are and who you hope to be. They will cherish you and honor you for the light you bear and the beacon you hope to build with your life.

Family is love. Family is life. Choose yours carefully and let it fill your world.

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