Dear Hettie,
I woke up early today and watched you sleeping, peacefully splayed like a starfish in the middle of the bedβa parent perched precariously on each side. Despite my arm being numb with pins and needles, I was glad youβd joined us at some point in the night. Your slow, steady breaths calmed my own and helped ease the anxiety that was already percolating. I needed this moment with you, to stroke your soft curls and appreciate your innocence (before you woke up and started bossing me around).
You have no idea what today is, what today means. One day, Iβll tell you the story of todayβof what happened, whatever does happen. The two stories will be different, and both will likely shape the world you grow up in.
In one version of todayβs story, weβre joyous and triumphantβwe have hope! Weβve weathered adversity and overcome it, a plotline familiar from the fairy tales you love, though this story might seem even more unbelievable. In this version, some of the recent past will feel a bit rectified. Iβll still tell you about the past eight years, about the day I joined the Womenβs March on the National Mall and why it was one of the best days of my life. Iβll tell you about the words on my shirt that day:Β
βBecause love is love. Because Black Lives Matter. Because immigrants make America great. Because womenβs rights are human rights. Because water is life. Because every vote counts.βΒ
Iβll explain what those words mean, how things were back then, and how they changedβhowΒ IΒ changed. Iβll tell you how the 2016 election played a part in my decision to quit my job, leave D.C., travel the world, and have life-changing experiencesβone of which was meeting your Papi. Iβll still tell you that story.
In the other version of todayβs story, the past is the same, but today is different. What happens today will stir emotions weβll try our best to shield you from (difficult to do in a house our size, as we learned last night when I had βa momentβ). But in this version, weβll still be okayβI promise. This story is not over; it has a few more chapters to go.
Most importantly, my sweet Henrietta, in both versions of todayβs story, you are loved beyond words by a Mummy, a Papi, and so many others who want nothing more than to provide a safe and fulfilling environment for you to grow up in. You are surrounded by people who want to protect you and also want you to have every opportunity, option, and choice in life. (Three years into parenting, Iβm already sensing that striking this balance is the holy grail.) You will be loved and respected, unconditionally, whatever choices you make and whatever paths you choose. We may not always agree with you, and I hope that we donβtβbut that will never change our support of you and your choices.
In one version, youβll have more choices as a result of today. In the other, it will take a little longer. And in both versions, weβll still have love and weβll still have hope; weβll always have love and hope. Because love is love and womenβs rights are human rights and every vote counts. I promise.
I love you, my sweet angel, today, forever, and always.
Mummy




