Before I was with fetus I used to say (entirely too seriously sometimes) that all I need to do is stay black and die (shuttup. lean on me is a fantastic movie) but now that’s not the case. We are responsible for another person. Their livelihood. Their character. Their heart. Holy Shit.

I used to be a solid sleeper. Now I am up worth anxiety. With worry.

I worry…

that you are growing well

that you won’t enjoy the simple things

that someday someone will hurt you

that I won’t be a good mama

that you won’t realize that you are the most loved being in the whole world

about our genetic screening

that you won’t realize your potential

that the world won’t be a happy place when you grow up

that if you are gay you won’t be able to legally marry the one you love

that you will inherit my fear of snakes and roller coasters

that one day you will wake up and hate us

that you won’t love Lauryn Hill, Aretha, DMB, Pink Floyd and Beyonce

that you will ever feel pain. Emotional or physical.

Some of these are rational. Most aren’t. But they are all on my mind constantly. All I want is for my baby to feel, show and understand love. To be kind, honest, to defy gravity, and to love who they are to their core. That can’t be too much to ask. Right?