People have always told me I’d make a great Mom. So far I’m sub par. I ditched my plant eating ethics in a hot minute to gorge on ribs and flesh (Hootoo needs protein, or so I tell myself), I drink too much Diet Pepsi and not enough milk, regularly forget my vitamins and make Hootoo audience to Radiohead and loud music. It has no choice. Then again, I write it letters, keep it hydrated, think happy and hope for the best. It knows I’m considering being more responsible and adult, I’ve told it so. I’ll take it places. It’s lucky to have me.
I think more about the end game than the journey. The fateful day when I’m bearing down, cursing Dad and Hootoo for this miserable situation. I could make it easier with some medication, but I’m a tough broad and I’ll opt for soothing sounds and holistic scents. When Hootoo comes on the scene, baby is going to be healthy and perfect and awesome. And man, my baby will punch your baby right in the nose.
