Stella’s Signature Move

Dear Future Stella,

Current Stella is sick again. I am having a hard time understanding how this is even possible. Maybe she licks the seats of the bus when Im not paying attention? Last night she just tossed and turned and whined and coughed….all night long. At some point I couldn’t handle all the restless sounds and grunts so I went in her room and picked her up and made her come in our bed. I am not sure what rationale I was using at 2am to convince myself that this would solve the problem, but it doesn’t take a Harvard graduate to guess that all that did was bring the noise closer to me, or more accurately, on top of me. Sleeping next to Current Stella reminds me why I will never, ever, get pregnant again. Your night time interpretive dance moves are a not-so-friendly reminder of what you did to pass the time inside my body. You were such an active little fetus. Check out this video of you in my uterus…

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Based on how you behaved in my stomach, I thought for sure you were going to be a little hyperactive bitch bag with a fetish for punching me in my vital organs. Turns out, Current Stella is super mellow and gentle when she’s awake but she turns into an actual spasm once asleep. Last night, was absolutely no exception. I would estimate that she moved at least one limb every nanosecond. Thankfully, she came to the conclusion that we were all in her way (by “we” I mean your dad, both dogs, and myself) and asked if she could return to her own bed. She lasted approximately 15 minutes, but it felt like an entire pregnancy to me and I couldn’t have been more thrilled with the suggestion for her to get the fuck off of me. I was having legitimate horrific flashbacks.

There was a moment though, when she did her signature move, that filled me with amazement, as it always does, every single time I have felt it. When Current Stella is trying to fall asleep, she kneads her feet into whatever surface is available to her in a way that resembles a foot flexing and pointing under water. Its incredibly rhythmic and deliberate. The first time she did it to me (when she was merely a few hours old) I remember freaking out because it was a feeling I was already so familiar with. Fetus Stella did this same movement in my stomach and the cadence of the action is so distinct that I would recognize it anywhere. It was a cool revelation because nobody but me could have known this little detail about you. I felt connected to you and I remember wondering if all of your little quirks and idiosyncrasies would always be familiar to me. Anyway, I don’t get the opportunity to sleep next to Current Stella very often, so this unexpected treat was just what I needed last night. If she had not played lullaby footsie with my abdomen, I would have for sure considered dragging a sleeping bag onto our back lawn to see if the raccoons could sleep with all the racket she was making.

I obviously kept her home from school today and she stayed in bed from 9:30am to 5pm. I swear on Gail’s life that I am not exaggerating. It was insane. The few times I checked on her she was sound asleep. I couldn’t help but be irritated by how still she was sleeping (calm down, I checked for breath before allowing myself to be annoyed). She woke up, ate some food, and went right back to bed. I wish I would have known she was going to marathon sleep all day. I kept thinking she was going to wake up any second so I naturally didn’t do anything productive, the fear being that once I started something she would wake up immediately and be super high maintenance.

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, in one of the brief moments that you were awake, you stroked a bag of candy like a cat and told me that you wished you felt better so that you could eat some.

Love,

Mom

Lets Talk About Arms and Tater Tots

Dear Future Stella,

Today while laying on the couch with Current Stella she told me that she loves my arms so so much. She told me they are always so warm. I said thank you, and that I liked her arms too. This prompted Current Stella to tell me that she loves me so so so so much and that she will never love another person’s arms more than mine. I told her that I love her arms more than she loves my arms. We argued for a bit over who loved the other person’s arms more.

Barf. I mean it makes me so nauseous to be so mushy-gushy-lovey-dovey. This is an example of a conversation that is so out of character for me, and with anyone else would feel so creepy. I am not a verbally affectionate person and I have never expressed love for anyone’s arms, ever.

Right now Current Stella’s arms are still soft and squishy. Her little hands have marker all over them, as they often do these days, evidence of her obsession with coloring. Her fingernails have chipped blue polish on them. She has a healing scrape from an accident at school and, I believe, 3 freckles- but who’s counting? I don’t know when they will form into bony arms, or arms with muscle tone, or arms with hair. Maybe one day they will have tattoos on them, although I hope not. More than tattoos, I hope they never show signs of self hatred, abuse, or drug use. If her arms end up strong like her dad’s, I hope they never hurt anyone. If they are weak like mine, I hope they still accomplish great things.

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I have never thought so much about anyone’s arms and, in a way, its easier to think of each part of Current Stella individually, because when I think about the love I feel for the whole package its truly overwhelming.

So, Future Stella, lets talk about your arms. Do you have any scars? I have 3. One is from a tater tot. I dropped it on my arm when it was fresh out of the oven and it actually left a scar. Im not going to lie, I super love having a permanent mark on my body that was caused by a tater tot. I love tater tots. I also have a scar from when I backed into a hot curling iron in beauty school. That one gets really dark when I get tan. My favorite scar is from a pencil that I accidentally stabbed myself with in 3rd grade. It looks like a tiny blue dot. I love telling people that its a tattoo of the earth from really far away. Your Dad, as Im sure you are aware, has a giant scar on his arm from a motorcycle accident. He also has a ton of freckles on his arms, which I think is adorable. His arms are also freakishly muscular, and his hands look just like his Dads. Weird, I guess I have obsessed over someone else’s arms!

I hope you have some really good scar stories for me. Scars are really good conversation starters so here is some dating advice. On a first date, scan his/her arms for scars and ask about how they got them. Even better, offer to guess how they got the scars. If you are witty and quick like me, this will either score major points or end things pretty quickly. Just grab their arm, examine the scar, maybe even run your finger over it and say something like, “You were 7. You found one of your mom’s tampons and you were playing around with it. Thinking the string was a wick of sorts, you lit it with matches you stole from your dad. You were waving it around and pretending it was a Dynamite stick when your little sister walked in and scared the shit out of you.” This should make them laugh, or create awkward silence. Either way, the real story about how the scar happened will never be as good. Fact. The man of my dreams would laugh, make an equally funny guess about one of my scars (which I would trump be saying its actually from a tater tot). Then we would spend the rest of the night talking about tampons and tater tots and we would live happily ever after.

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, I love your arms and every square inch of your tiny lady body except for the part of your brain that creates tantrums and meltdowns. Unless that part of the brain also is in charge of making your profess your endless love for my warm arms. I don’t really know how the brain works exactly so I might have to get back to you on that. Current Stella, I love your arms the most, but only because Gail The Puppy technically has paws, so I believe its a separate category.

Love,

Mom

This Won’t Be The Last Time You Will Be Told You’re Too Young

Dear Future Stella,

We received all the letters today from the schools we applied to for next year. It was mostly unanimous that the schools felt you would benefit from an extra year of preschool and that you should try again next year and enter Kindergarten as a 6 year old. This might seem to some as bad news but it’s really not.

I didn’t really try to get pregnant with you, it just sort of happened. Your dad and I loosely talked about it in the way one might say, “I would love to go to Italy one day.” The idea of being parents sounded fabulous, but neither one of us had a “ticking clock” so to speak. Don’t get me wrong, I know how babies are made and what precautions one would need to take to prevent it. I guess I was just blasé about the whole thing, so when I peed on a stick on Halloween (dressed as a flamingo) and found out I was pregnant, I was definitely surprised. It felt like such bad timing for so many reasons- I was still building a clientele at my salon and maternity leave would for sure kill that. We hadn’t been to Italy yet. We didn’t own our home. I had this thing coming up in a few weeks that I was excited to be drunk at. The irony of all of that was none of those things mattered at all in the grand scheme of things. The one “timing” issue I should have been freaking out about was the fact that you were going to be a summer birthday. Getting into private schools in San Francisco with a summer birthday is like trying to make a right hand turn from the far left lane. It’s not impossible, but if the other cars in your way don’t drive a specfic exact way, then there is a high chance you will have to circle the block and try again later. 

With a summer birthday you were either going to be the youngest in your class or the oldest. The cutoff is Aug. 1 and your birthday is July 19th, meaning you make the cut off by 12 days. Just because you make the cut off doesn’t mean you will be admitted, the schools evaluate you to see if you are ready, both individually and in a group. After that, other considerations are taken into account. They start building a classroom based on their automatically accepted children (mainly siblings of current students, legacies and other “shoe-in” candidates). After that they try to create balance and diversity. They don’t want too many of any one thing in each class. So, some years they might need a young summer birthday girl with a bad ass personality, blonde hair and delicious green eyes, other years (like this one apparently) they have already met that quota with the “shoe-ins.” At that point the schools have 3 options. They could tell us 

“no” (bad)

“Waitlist” (only slightly better but given your obvious niche of a summer birthday it’s unlikely you would ever get off said list) 

“too young” (which generally means we really like you but please wait until next year when you won’t be such a strange commodity that we can only have 1 of in each class). 

You got mostly “too young” letters which is an open and welcome invitation to try again next year. You did, though, get 2 Waitlist letters. The first one is from a sweet school that we liked but not enough to pursue and never know what the other schools might have said next year. The second was actually one of our top choices for you. This school has a later cut off than the rest of the schools which sort of explains why you didn’t get “too young” from them. We like this school enough to remain on the Waitlist and see what happens.

So at this point two things will happen. The most likely is that you will do the TK program at your current preschool. Take the year to mature, learn some more shit and then apply again next year to all the schools that said you were too young. The second, is that somehow, someway,  you will get off the Waitlist at a wonderful school and start Kindergarten next year. 

Your dad and I will be thrilled either way. Mostly because you would thrive doing either one and everything happens for a reason. 

With that being said, its going to suck for you either way. If you are the youngest in your class then all of your friends will get to drive and buy cigarettes before you. Also, if the current literature is true, then you will never excel at sports or academics. If you are the oldest in your class, you will get boobs before everyone and get to drink at bars before your classmates but you will look the worst at your reunions. Good luck my Summer Birthday.

This morning I was a nervous wreck waiting to get the letters but you were twirling your way to the bus stop. It’s one of the many times you have inspired and grounded me. 





Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, tonight you told me that you love night time because you love going to bed because it’s so cozy in your bed and that you want to sleep in all morning tomorrow. I felt so much love for you in this moment that it’s hard to actually describe. Please follow through. 

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday Guncle!!

Dear Future Stella,

You have some very special people in your world who love you and that have really impacted you thus far. These people have made quite an effort to be a major part of your life. I have decided to feature these people on, or near, their birthdays so that you can re-live the moments that your memory might not have stored.

I was just admitting to my Grandma today that I am terrible at remembering birthdays- I blame the fact that I don’t have Facebook, but I am determined to get better at this. I will never forget my best friends’ birthdays (June 29th and May 25th, you know who you are), or my immediate family members- those birthdays have stuck like glue. Everyone else, I just can’t get it together, so these posts will help me to remember and hopefully give you a little glimpse of these beginning relationships.

March 12 is Michael Schwartz’s birthday. He is my uncle, married to my Mom’s sister. You call him Guncle. We gave him this name as an abbreviation for Great Uncle. Later (much too late) we realized that Guncle actually means Gay Uncle. You met him for the first time when you were 5 weeks old and despite the fact that he lives in Oregon, you see him quite a bit.

I remember the day so clearly when he married my Tante. It was so magical to me and I was so excited to have someone like him join our family. I used to drive him crazy singing made up songs like “Michael, Michael, Motorcycle, vroooooooom.” I was obnoxious and loud and was way too hyper around him. Despite my insanity, they decided to have kids of their own and those kids mean just about everything to me. I remember when they were born, and they have since grown up and I now consider them my friends. Your Guncle has also been a parenting inspiration to me and has been such a great example of what a husband should embody. I enjoy his company and since the day you were born he has been the best straight Guncle a girl could ask for.

Guncle has always been down to play with you no matter what it is. He dives right into your interests and puts so much effort into ensuring that you remember him. His specialty is just taking your hand and walking with you.

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We also often find you on his lap

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Guncle, Happy Birthday!! Thank you so much for being an insanely good heterosexual gay uncle to Current Stella.

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, you have been getting hives lately and we have been trying so hard to figure out what is causing them. This morning you suggested that maybe they were tiny houses on your body where little animals were living.

Just When I Thought it Couldn’t Get Any Worse

Dear Future Stella,

So as you know, today  I was supposed to find out where Current Stella would be getting suspended from soon (a.k.a Kindergarten). I had to work all day so I left your dad the very important job of getting the mail and calling me immediately at work on our secret emergency phone line so I could take over from there. He had one job, Future Stella, one job. 

First of all, I got a text, not a call. One job. Second, the text said that the mail came but no letters were there-  just some bills and my renewed cosmetology license. Obviously this is all his fault. Did he chase the mailman and ask him to check again? Of course not. Did he call all the schools and inquire? Nope. Did he spend the rest of his day pacing around the house, calling the postal service to see if there is any way we could somehow get access to tomorrow’s mail? No, he did not. One job. 

So basically I have to wait until tomorrow to find out because your Dad couldn’t handle his one job. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…..

My coworker told me today that Disney announced that they are making Frozen II. Just kick me while I’m down Elsa. I would send Stella to the worst school in the city in exchange for that not to happen. I just can’t. 

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, I have no idea what school you are going to (if any) but I am probably going to tell you that Elsa murders Anna in the sequel and that it’s really scary. 

Love,

Mom

How I Deal With Stress

Dear Future Stella,

I have spent all 4 1/2 years of Current Stella’s life telling myself I wouldn’t be the Mom that stresses about getting her into Kindergarten. *Fun fact, major tangent here, but did you know that up until very recently I actually thought it was spelled Kindergarden with a D. Mainly because autocorrect doesn’t seem to mind that version, and that’s exactly how it sounds AND I just pictured a bunch of small children blossoming in a garden so that word made more sense to me. Anyway, I can almost guarantee I spelled it wrong on most of your applications. I’m hoping they will see it as some kind of diversity thing where a parent made it to 30 years old without knowing how to spell that word correctly so their kid really deserves a better shot at education. Ok, back to the real story.

Every mom in San Francisco warns you about the stress of getting into Kindergarten. Then they continue by saying everything always works out and not to stress about it. That is basically the equivalent of telling a young person to enjoy being in a bathing suit or advising a 5 year old child on the playground to appreciate their hair because one day it might turn grey. It’s the kind of advice I despise because such epiphanys can only be had once you have made it to the other side. It’s a fact. So yes, I told myself not to stress out and that everything happens for a reason and bla bla bla. We find out tomorrow where you got accepted, if anywhere, and I really tried to keep perspective.  In reality I have like 8 new zits, I scream at the dogs for needing to go to the bathroom and tonight I made Current Stella go to bed an hour early. I do this by adjusting the clock on the microwave and then showing it to her. She falls for it every time because she is so naive and loves the structure of a bedtime. If the microwave says its 8pm, it must be 8pm.

 *fun fact: our microwave actually hasn’t been adjusted since daylight savings so I actually had to move it ahead 2 hours to trick you, so now instead of being an hour behind its now an hour ahead. I’m not sure it is ever the right time. Ugh, do you even have a microwave? They are bad, right? I knew it.

I hate the feeling of stress and it’s not often I am consumed with it. I would go as far as to say that I have a below average amount of stress in my life. I have a very enjoyable job that rarely creates stress, I only have one child and a very hands-on husband. I don’t commute, my extended family is relatively normal, my health is good, and we always manage to pay our rent so the feeling of stress is actually foreign to me and I despise it. 

Tonight I have the kind of stress that consumes you. I cannot think of anything else. I might not get down on the ground with Current Stella and play Barbies with her, or pack her elaborate lunches, or sing silly songs but I care an insane amount about what kind of education she will receive. I truly don’t care if she is a genius, although I hope she learns how to spell kindergarten before me, I just want her to love school and love learning. I want her to meet insanely awesome friends who inspire her to be unique and strong and who support her on whoever she chooses to be. This next school will literally be the backdrop to her childhood. So yes, I’m totally stressed out. 

There are a few things I can do to distract me from my stress, because let’s me honest, this stress won’t go away until the letters come, but I needed to find something to totally make me escape. The things that usually work for me are:

1) Getting shit faced wasted (not an option because I work tomorrow).

2) That sweet spot when you are so obsessed with a book that your husband could tell you that he is leaving you for your best friend and you are like, “Can we talk about this later? This book is getting intense.” (Also, not an option because I’m on page 3 of my current book, so nowhere near sweet spot).

3) Wild passionate sex. As much as I would love to pretend this is the method I picked tonight so I could elaborate on this to thoroughly gross you out, that would be lying. 

4) Cooking. I don’t know what it is about this chore that I find glorious but I’m legitimately obsessed with it. I like it even more when I get to do it with your dad (by do it, I mean cook, you sicko). When I’m cooking, I’m momentarily lost in what I’m doing and old stresses are replaced with new stresses, things like, “Oh, that’s right, silverware can’t go in the microwave!” 

Lately, we have been using this awesome recipe/ingredient company called Blue Apron. Every week they deliver 3 recipes with all of the ingredients to make them. The food is delicious and fun to make and totally stress free. You probably don’t eat food in 2035, but rather take food pills or drink food water. Maybe you plug yourself into an IV to receive nutrients? Maybe you have gone the other direction and everyone eats raw animals? I have no idea, but in 2015 Blue Apron is revolutionary, if for no other reason that it can de-stress me long enough to not finish my thoughts about if you don’t get into any kindergarten how are you ever going to learn how spell kindergarten? 



Look how easy and fun it is to cook with Blue Apron! So interesting and distracting. Yes, we drink Stella Artois beer. No, you were not named after the beer, although that’s a way better story than the truth, which is that you were named after your Dad’s Grandma, who was an amazingly strong woman that will be forever missed. 

So tonight we cooked Pork Dan Dan Noodles and drank Stella Artois beer and your dad I played eachother on Trivia Crack on our phones while in the same room. 

I know I can’t do anything right this moment to change what the letters will say tomorrow. That doesn’t mean I can’t obsess over what I could have done to improve what those letters might say. I will fall asleep thinking about, wake up sweating about it and work all day consumed by it. As much as I hate the feeling of stress, I will gladly feel anything unpleasant if it might improve your life. 

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, I’m going to apologize, in advance, for my behavior tomorrow. It’s coming from a very deep love that is mixed with an insane competitive drive that I never seemed to find a healthy outlet for (unless you count Trivia Crack).

*disclaimer*

It just occurred to me that I name dropped Blue Apron and Stella Artois.Trust me when I say,this post isn’t sponsored, nor would they be proud of this product placement. 

Also, yesterday a very funny blogger named onlybadchi nominated me for a challenge that I can’t commit to, but I think her site is fantastic so I think you should check it out.

http://onlybadchi.wordpress.com

What The Interwebs Say We Will Look Like in 20 years

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Dear Future Stella,

I was going to wait and see what Current Stella will look like in 20 years but when I discovered the internet will just show me right now I decided to go that route. I had to painfully wait my whole pregnancy to find out what sex you were going to be so I pretty much don’t want to wait for anything else ever again. Today’s society makes it really easy to get whatever we want whenever we want.

Here you are in 20 years, which if this is correct, should feel like you are looking in a mirror. Hopefully you are not high or something when you read this entry because it might totally put you into some crazy alternate universe. If you do a lot of drugs, keep scrolling because this site let me see what you would look like in 20 years if you were a drug addict so maybe that photo will be more familiar to you.

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I think we can both agree that they are both terrible. Before seeing these pictures I would have advocated hardcore for you to be drug free, but now that I know you only look slightly more hideous if you go that route- I say go for it. You only live once. I find it interesting that they predict you will have some sort of brow lift on one side of your face, both on and off drugs. What does the internet know that I do not? Car accident? Trendy new plastic surgery procedure? I guess it is true what they say, the cuter the kid, the uglier the adult. I mean sweetie, no offense, but at 24 you are looking old kiddo. I bet its all the sugar you eat.

Here is what they say I will look like in 20 years
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Besides gaining about 10 pounds it appears the only change I am making in the next 2 decades is dying my eyebrows black and wearing dark lipstick only on my upper lip. Seems like an odd choice but clearly the internet knows future fashion and I don’t.

Here’s your Dad
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Of course he looks the fucking same. The only difference is the permanent wine mustache which, no offense Internet, I could have predicted that. Men are so damn lucky.

Then I saw a website that could tell me what my baby would look like. I uploaded a picture of myself and your dad and this is what they said our baby should look like

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Its like, how did they know we were going to put you in corn rows? The internet is one smart cookie

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I was also curious to see what the baby of your dad and his celebrity crush would look like. Her name is Emily Ratajkowski. It was such a relief that the baby was downright repulsive. I am sort of interested to know why their baby is destined to wear that stupid hat? They don’t give any information with these pictures so I can only assume their baby has one ugly head.

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Dear Future Stella, I still love you even though you are ugly. Current Stella, I am going to tape these pictures to your wall and if that doesn’t motivate you to make some serious diet changes, girl I don’t know what will.

*I feel like I have to say this because the internet is full of some crazy people who cannot for the life of them detect sarcasm or humor. I am 100% not serious, if you have a bone to pick, talk to the websites that create these pictures. I will love my dear sweet Stella no matter what she looks like and I hate drugs.

Bus Conversations With Current Stella

Dear Future Stella,

Current Stella is very chatty on the bus. She usually takes this public opportunity to ask me embarrassing questions, or displays behavior that “I swear she has never done before..” However, some bus rides are filled with delicious moments that I want to relive over and over. Today was that kind of moment.

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Today’s conversation went like this:

Current Stella- How do you get home from work?
Me- Sometimes I walk, sometimes I take the bus, sometimes Daddy picks me up, sometimes I take a cab or an Uber.
Current Stella- Why don’t you run?
(Laughter from surrounding bus patrons)
Me- I am usually wearing high heels and I can’t run with my purse
Current Stella- Well, here’s the thing (she actually used those words), you could bring running shoes and use a backpack instead of a purse. I think you should run home.
Me- I could, but I stand all day on my feet and so the thought of running home doesn’t really sound that appealing. Why don’t YOU run home from school?
Current Stella- because Dad is always there to pick me up
Me- I could tell him not to come
Current Stella- What if I have to cross a street? I can’t cross a street by myself
Me- You could ask a stranger to help you cross
Long pause
Current Stella- What if a stranger never comes?
Me- Don’t worry, someone will eventually come. This is San Francisco.

That shockingly ended the conversation. She spent the rest of the ride to school in silence.

When I was dropping her off I told her that her dad would pick her up.
Current Stella, in a voice that showed she was dead serious asked, “So, I don’t have to run home?”

I mean, melt my heart, and freeze it into heart shaped ice cubes. It really doesn’t get any sweeter than Current Stella.

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, you told me today that you loved me more than all the dogs in every city in the whole world. I don’t think you realize how many stray dogs are just roaming around Mexico…..

WHY ARE YOU SO NICE?

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Dear Future Stella,



For the past couple of days I have been doing this thing where I go find Current Stella and pick her up- mid activity. I don’t really say anything to her, I just grab her and scoop her up. I wrap her legs around my waste and drape her hands around my neck. I hold her so tight and begin to stroke her hair. She just gives into this; becoming limp and releasing a giant sigh of relaxation. She doesn’t say anything but she rests her head on my shoulder and we both stay like this for a good amount of time. 

I do this because I’m pretty awkward but I truly adore her affection. I won’t be the mom that dotes on her or remembers to give her a kiss every single time I leave for work. I’m just not an affectionate person but that doesn’t mean I don’t love our bond. 

Every time I initiate this interaction, she welcomes it gladly. Whether she is eating, building a Lego tower or blowing bubbles outside- she will drop anything to snuggle up to me. I find this so incredibly sweet. She will even accept affection during a tantrum. 

Don’t get me wrong, she is a lunatic sometimes, but in general she is seriously so nice. She is nice to our dogs,  to her friends, to strangers, and shockingly- to me.

Future Stella, I hope you are still nice. I hope that you continue to inspire me to be more affectionate. I hope that I inspire you to recognize other forms of affection. 

People scare me all the time about how their sweet girls grow up to be raging bitch nightmare teenagers. You might fall into this catergory. Maybe you will tell me that you hate me one day. Maybe you will try and run away. Whatever disaster you try and bring into my life, I hope I remember how simple it is to give you a hug. I won’t pretend that it will solve all of our future issues, but it sure won’t hurt to try. 

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, if I didn’t have to go to work this morning I could have stayed in that hug forever. You are getting so heavy but there really isn’t anything else on the planet that compares to the feel of your hug. You farted on me though, and that pretty much killed the moment.

Love,

Mom

Hopefully your future does not include….

Dear Future Stella,

I hope that you will never have to endure a conversation like the one I had at work today. I hope that we have evolved so much in 20 years that such talk will be considered ridiculous. I can only pray that mankind will make giant strides in the next two decades and put a stop to something that is unfortunately commonplace in 2015. 

I am living in a time where this cultural phenomenon is blasted in my face every day. Every other store seems to be an establishment that caters to this very sick, socially acceptable lifestyle. In fact, San Francisco seems to be a hot bed for breeding the very people who are running this movement. 

The movement Im talking about is juicing. Juicing is a religion in which one believes they must consume the extracts of various fruits and vegetables daily, sometimes multiple times a day, sometimes in replacement of food all together. Some believers in this religion prefer to make their own custom juices at their homes with very expensive juicing machines (you might be familiar with a blender, the juicing machine’s identical twin). Others like to purchase their potions at juice shops in adorable little bottles at a cost of 20 dollars a pop (so, like 100 bucks to you). Regardless of how these fanatics obtain their juice, one thing is for certain, they must also talk about their juice, a lot. 

Today at my work I had the pleasure of listening to 2 people debate the pros and cons of the two hottest juicers on the market while I was trying to eat my lunch. They were citing statistics, and percentages, chemical breakdowns and molecular gastronomy (I’m just throwing out terms that sound fancy but vaguely refer to food). 

I mean, fuck, I’m just trying to eat my gluten free kale detox salad over here, enough with the juice. Seriously, it isn’t that revolutionary- V8 has been on the market forever. Also, I’m not a hater. I like juice too, I like grape juice, fermented grape juice. 

All these food and diet fads never stick. When I was a kid “fat free” was all the rage. I would bring packages of gummy candy to my mom at the grocery store and be like, “look, it’s fat free!” My mom couldn’t argue with the label so into the cart it went! Skim milk was best and now whole milk is considered better. Vegetable oil used to be healthy because it was made from vegetables and now it’s poison and extra virgin or coconut oil is recommended. Low carb, paleo, vegan, gluten free, pescatarian, raw food, regurgitated baby food- whatever, nothing lasts. Please Future Stella, just eat anything you want. Just don’t eat a ton of anything. Don’t fall for this shit- it will just make you feel dumb when someone proves it wrong.

Don’t even get me started on all the different ways one can “workout” in 2015. It’s fucking stupid.

Future Stella, I love you. Current Stella, how many days in a row can you eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? You don’t give a shit about gluten and that’s why I love you.

Love,

Mom