Anyway, I jump on my computer this morning real quick, pull up my Blogger Dashboard and see a post entitled 16 Year Old Me by Desiree of 36th Avenue. I click and read and immediately start thinking of all the things that I would tell my self at age 17. I thought (sometimes still think) that 17 was the Best. Age. Ever. I used to say that it's old enough for some responsibilities but too young to held accountable if you screw those responsibilities up.
So what would I tell my nine-years-in-past self?
Dear 17 Year Old Me,
DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get your navel pierced. Because three years from now you stomach will not be flat, or pretty, or tan but it will have a 7 lb. baby in it. Your bellybutton will go from cute to "Ewww!"
Go ahead and think about marrying that boy. He's stubborn and sometimes selfish but he'll never leave your side. He might think about it. But he won't.
Enjoy filling your car up for $11. You'll never see that again.
Please try to remember that you have more than "pretty" going for you. That won't help you anyway a few years from now. And don't let anyone tell you that your dream of being a mother is stupid and that you need to go to college to be anything. Being a mama is the best thing you'll ever do.
Your mom is not dumb. Your future mother-in-law isn't either. Both of those women will be invaluable to you when you haven't slept in 22 hours and you are sitting in the floor crying with a toddler in your lap. Please always appreciate them.
Right now, you wear miniskirts and always have makeup on with your beautiful long hair fixed. At 25, you'll find yourself without a lick of make-up, hair in a perpetual ponytail, and you just wiped baby snot on your pj pants that you are still wearing at noon.
You dream of one day having little girls. Sorry. But I swear your heart will never be the same after having a little man steal it.
Oh, how I wish I could prepare you for the life you now lead. I wish I could tell you how often your children would bring you to your knees, pleading for help from God. Or how often you would pack up your life and go, not really knowing what would be waiting for you. At 17, you are fearless. At 20, you will be more scared than you have ever been and probably ever will be again. And at 25, well....
Dear sweet, naive 17 year old me,
Stop asking your best friend to go to the bathroom with you. Nine years from now, all you'll want is to be able to pee alone.
Thanks for stopping by!