A Letter to My Teenage Parent Self
You’ve got this.
Dear Sixteen-Year-Old Me Entering Parenthood
Well, damn we’ve been through a lot of crap together, but nothing as scary as what you’re facing right now. I can see you, standing in the nursery of the hospital with the plastic crib in front of you, not having a clue what to do. You’re still a child yourself, and here you are thrust into the role of dad.
Dad, can you believe that word belongs to you?
I know how you feel right now, and I know how daunting this all seems, and you’re looking at him, your son, wondering how you can give him anything in this world when you don’t even dare to pick him up. You even had to walk to the hospital because you didn’t have the money to catch the bus.
But let me tell you something. In a minute, you’re going to hold your son, and when you do, he’s going to wrap one little hand around your finger, open his eyes and stare right at you, and that moment, that second when you feel that jolt of love in your heart, it’s going to stay with you forever. You’re going to put your face to his, kiss his little nose and make a promise that you’ll love him for all of your life.
And you will.
