Dear Hettie,
I woke up early today and watched you sleeping, peacefully splayed like a starfish in the middle of the bed—a parent perched precariously on each side. Despite my arm being numb with pins and needles, I was glad you’d 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, I’ll tell you the story of today—of 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 today’s story, we’re joyous and triumphant—we have hope! We’ve 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. I’ll still tell you about the past eight years, about the day I joined the Women’s March on the National Mall and why it was one of the best days of my life. I’ll tell you about the words on my shirt that day:
“Because love is love. Because Black Lives Matter. Because immigrants make America great. Because women’s rights are human rights. Because water is life. Because every vote counts.”
I’ll explain what those words mean, how things were back then, and how they changed—how I changed. I’ll 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 experiences—one of which was meeting your Papi. I’ll still tell you that story.
In the other version of today’s story, the past is the same, but today is different. What happens today will stir emotions we’ll try our best to shield you from (difficult to do in a house our size, as we learned last night when I had ‘a moment’). But in this version, we’ll still be okay—I promise. This story is not over; it has a few more chapters to go.
Most importantly, my sweet Henrietta, in both versions of today’s 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, I’m 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 don’t—but that will never change our support of you and your choices.
In one version, you’ll have more choices as a result of today. In the other, it will take a little longer. And in both versions, we’ll still have love and we’ll still have hope; we’ll always have love and hope. Because love is love and women’s rights are human rights and every vote counts. I promise.
I love you, my sweet angel, today, forever, and always.
Mummy
