Angeline Balagtas



February 23, 2021


Hey Kiddo. It’s me, your Mom. I’m writing to you from the past. The very distant past, actually. You see, as I write this, your existence is still far off in the hopeful future. And as much as I can’t wait to meet you, I’m ok with both of us taking our time. I want you to know that, even without knowing who your Dad will be, what your name is or whether you’ll even exist in the future, I’m a 100% whole person as I sit here today. I’m not waiting for, nor expecting, you to complete me. I’ve had seventeen years on this earth comprised of lofty dreams and concrete accomplishments. Missed opportunities and sheer, dumb luck. Friendship and sisterhood. Crippling disappointment and embarrassment so acute I thought I’d never recover. In short, there was a me before you. Kiddo, I will be different when you come along. The bits that make up my core will be the same, but the second you’re born, I’ll shed my independence like a skin. What’s left will be a raw vulnerability that will simultaneously thrill, terrify and change me. Right now, I cherish my independence. It’s sacred. But I know that someday I’ll be ready to cherish you more. This is my version of that love letter. To try to give you a glimpse of me before you in hopes that it strengthens whatever relationship we might have.

Can’t wait to meet you.


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  • February 23, 2021 - 7:03am (Now Viewing)

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