Dear Future Daughter-in-Laws,
I know I haven't met you yet - or maybe I have and I scared you away when I came at you waving a tape measure. If that was the case, please - hear me out.
But, I digress.
As I was preparing my youngest son's breakfast the other day - a kitschy dish we like to call "Egg-in-Bread" - and I arranged it on his plate just so, it occurred to me that you may someday curse the ground I walk on, accusing me of not only pampering your future husband but, worse, creating a needy man who demands that his spouse match, or even exceed, his mom's level of doting.
I handed my youngest his food and he thanked me. But when he pushed the envelop and asked for some milk, I nearly snarled, "Get it yourself."
Then I set out his clothes for him (after I made his bed, of course).
Far be it from me to raise a high maintenance hubby. However, since he is my youngest, I know the damage has already been done with my older four. Please accept my sincerest apologies.
I didn't intentionally set out to create narcisitic oafs, incapable of independent living. I blame working mother guilt.
I'll admit it. I put my career first. After dumping them in daycare, I would rush to my job as if the Earth itself would stop spinning on its axis if I was but a minute late.
Then, exhausted to the point of insanity, I didn't think twice about putting my boys' needs before my own - even if it meant storing extra clothes for them in their diaper bag while I rushed to work with oatmeal stained shoulders, or cutting their meat for them so I could enjoy my own meal in peace (I swear I won't do this at your wedding reception).
As they got older, I kept their schedules so jam packed with scouts, sports and school, that again, I felt too guilty to make them do chores. I know, I know - bad move. Is it any wonder they avoid eye contact with me as I read off my to-do list on Saturday mornings?
Please believe me when I tell you, I did it all out of love. Perhaps you'll understand better once you have children of your own.
I. Can't. Wait.
Well, anyway. Sorry to be so long-winded. I'm sure I'll be thrilled to finally meet you when the time comes!
P.S. It's a size 8. Just sayin'...