Sometimes, it still astounds me that I am going to be a mother. I, Mia, am going to be somebody’s mother. A human being will be dependent on me for its survival, even for its very existence. How could I possibly be fit for such an awesome responsibility? How can I raise another human being and not inflict some permanent damage upon his person?
I, Mia, who has, many times, left food in fridge and simply forgot about it for years. I, Mia who can’t balance a checkbook. Who takes forever to parallel park. I, Mia, who forgets to replace towels until they start to smell. Who steps out of the house with her blouse unbuttoned. Who messes up ready mix pancakes. I, Mia, who is afraid of butterflies. Who left the fan running for an entire week while on vacation. Who almost failed second year home economics class because she can’t sew a pair of shorts to save her life. I, Mia, who once gave an entire presentation with bits of broccolli stuck on my teeth. I, Mia, who can’t even keep my damn cactus plants alive.
I, Mia, am going to be a mother. Heaven help me.
Or rather, heaven help my child.