I understand that you don’t know much of life yet, being less than half-baked inside my uterus. You haven’t had your first love yet, haven’t met their parents, or even your parents. Your father and I don’t yet know what color-coded stereotype you will be thrust into, but we do know, that you will be weird.
It’s inevitable. You’re going to be weird. There’s truly no hope for you.
I know because I’m weird too. Your whole family is. I’m a chunky woman whom isn’t thick or fit and still looks fine in pictures. I refer to my high school years as my “Anti-puberty”. I care deeply about people’s wellbeing. I work as a babysitter for young children, an HCA for the elderly with Dementia, and as a caregiver for older children with Developmental Disabilities. At home, I run a radio station, and a blog, from my laptop. Your father and I participate in yearly challenges, like Inktober and NaNoWriMo. I’m insufferably hooked on Disney movies and Broadway shows, and I watch them very often and have been doing so long before you were conceived. I also sing horribly off-key, in public, which you already know because I sing to you everyday. Word of caution: I dance as well as I sing.
Your father is a professional DJ, a scientist, and an artist. He is a strong man with long black hair, sometimes dyed green, that he holds back in a long braid while he spray-paints the planets onto your dresser, while he cooks us salmon to eat late at night, and while he casts the spells to protect your nursery. He is a punk rocker, goth kid, firmly political, feminist. He stands up for what he believes in and fights for those who can’t.
Your father is a wonderful man, and he’ll go to any length to protect you and provide for you. After work each night, he lays his head on my belly and talks to you for hours. At this point, I’m sure that you are probably tired of hearing about game campaigns and chemical compounds found in the local environment. But that’s just how weird he is. I mean, wearing the kilt that best matches the punk rock patches you’ve sewn on the baby carrier type of weird.
Your impending weirdness is inevitable.
Your father and I fell in love while we put on and ran Comic Convention that was celebrating the career of an anime voice actor. I did the showcasing and moderated the panels, while he DJ’ed the very successful Steampunk Ball. We both did all of the lighting and sound work for the event. Point in fact, next week, your father is working for another convention, with the same crew.
My dad, your grandfather, is a nurse that sells insurance. He is a huge science fiction fan, and a huge science fan. He and your father play D&D, and other tabletop games, every weekend, all weekend.
Two of your uncles are computer programmers, one of your grandmas is a child psychologist, and another is a truck driver.
Face it kid, you are going to be pretty weird. And I can’t wait.