To My Bubble Boy

DISCLAIMER: If you are looking for a standard Expletive Baby type rant and rage, please turn around and leave now. You may not find that here today. Apologies.

Dear %^@! Baby:

I want you to come on time, I really do. This is no time to procrastinate. This is your official two week notice. Please pack up your water apartment and vacate the premises in fourteen (14) days. You will be refunded your security deposit upon final inspection.

That said, it pains me to evict you. In the physical sense, OBVIOUSLY it will pain me to evict you, but I’m focused more on the figurative right now. You have been a model tenant, requiring zero calls to the cops for noise complaints. I’m sure that will change. I’ve gotten used to your late night ninja practice, wall-banging, drunken hiccups and booty shaking. I’ve grown (literally) to enjoy it.

It’s going to be odd not having that movement anymore. And if I do, I know it really is just gas now. And that’s gross.

It is a scary world out there and you’re safe and protected in your little uterine bubble. I feel like I can shield you from everything. You’re cozy and warm and fed and safe. I could keep you in a bubble forever, but the threat of being deflated by Costanza, mud wrestling with Stacy Keibler or ending up like this is just far too great a risk.

You and I have been a team, man.  You parasite away my nutrients and in return, I eat whatever the hell I want to.  You’ve given me a plethora of new excuses to use that have been accepted without question. It’s a bullshitting freedom I have never experienced before. And it’s amazing. TEAMWORK.

You’ve been an attention-getter without being seen, meaning the attention is on me. Anyone who knows me knows I sort of totally dig that shit. I’m the youngest, I am the only girl in my family, I was and remain a mo^&#%f$#%@^ng princess. Out of your bubble, the swooning gets passed to you. And not saying I’m not going to go banana sandwich over your little face, but no one will be looking at my little face anymore. What can I say, I’m conceited and selfish.

I appreciate the luck that you’ve brought me, courtesy of your father’s genes, however I know once you’re out it is no longer you and I against the world, it’s you and your dad against me. There is no hope for me after that. I will never win.

While you technically belong 50% to your father, for the past nine months you’ve been tied solely to me. You’ve been mine. I know you better than anyone else can. I know what you like, what drives you crazy, what makes you squirm. No one else knows you like I do. I am not really ready to share you yet.

I know you’ve been in there for 38 weeks/almost nine months/long enough, but I feel like it went by too fast and I am just starting to fully absorb and appreciate the experience. At the same time, it’s also felt like you’ve been in there so long I cannot remember my pre-fetus body. It’s an emotional tug of war, thinking it went by too fast and wasn’t long enough and that it’s time and you’re ready and I can totally see why women can be prone to depression after the fact.

I’m not going to get into the part about how we don’t know what we’re doing but we’ll always have your best interest at heart and blah blah blah. I was actually going to, but I started tearing up at work so, yeah, no, not going to happen. I AM HUMAN, AFTER ALL.

THIS IS ABOUT ME NOT WANTING TO SHARE YOU WITH ANYONE ELSE. About not being ready to let you out into the real world. Like I said. Selfish. Plus the real world? It sort of sucks.

So, Little Buddy, let’s spend the next 14 days enjoying each other’s company as you pack up to vacate. Things between us will never be the same. Things will be better, of course, but never like this. Let’s revel in the next two weeks together – indulging on our favorite things, poking each other, playing guess the body part and making your dad do anything and everything around the house as we sit and watch Storage Wars and So You Think You Can Dance.

And then you leave the building. On time. Fully packed. Taking your 20 pounds of gear with you.

You’re strong, you can carry it all out yourself. That’s why I’ve been drinking protein shakes.


6 thoughts on “To My Bubble Boy

  1. I served Squatch with the eviction notice last night, myself. That little bugger is now officially a squatter. And I did it basically for the inverse of the reasons you gave—I want Karli to share.

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