“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth
nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the
ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway
platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall
restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while
arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding
Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell
Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll
featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever,
anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually
fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course
design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with
the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw
horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is
short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is
long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the
misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for
Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of
Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab
in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have
it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,
that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M.,
all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose
poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans
feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed
gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will
make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know,
because I peeped it with Your God eyes.”
-Tina Fey - Bossy Pants
*She took the prayer right out of my head. Happy Mothers Day to all!
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