Dear baby girl,
You are by far the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, and the dearest wish of my heart is for you to grow up happy, healthy, and confident. You're just a baby now, but some day way too soon you'll be a teenager who finds me annoying. But I'm making you six promises right now that I believe will help you grow up healthy, happy, and confident.
I will love you with all of my heart forever. Duh. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could ever change my love for you. If you grow up to be a serial killer, I'll visit you all the time in prison. I'll keep your prison spending account topped up so you never have to go without Ramen noodles. If you need a weapon to protect yourself behind bars, I'll bring you a cake with a shank baked into it (though as your mother, I would expect you to live up to your full potential even while incarcerated, so you should be running that prison gang, not being run by it).
I will always support you. No, I don't mean financially, so don't get too excited. But I will be your biggest cheerleader in anything you choose to do in life. This is, of course, especially true if you decide to attend both Harvard Medical School and Yale Law, but it's also not untrue if you someday choose to pursue your dream of being an artisanal beef jerky maker.
I will have those awkward conversations with you. I'll never let you feel ashamed or uninformed about your body, and I will not use words like "winky" or "hoo-hoo" when I mean penis or vagina. There will be no metaphors about men watering your garden (which is a movie reference you'll hopefully get one day) when you're old enough for the sex talk.
I will be your mother first, and your friend second. Yes, you can talk to me about absolutely anything, but no, we won't be having convos over cocktails until you are of legal drinking age.
I will save things to remember your babyhood by. This one might be as much for me as for you, because there is no way I am ever getting rid of your newborn-sized pink and purple heart print sleeper, which you outgrew in about 3 seconds. It's still the most adorable piece of clothing I've ever seen, and I can't even wrap my mind around how you ever fit into it. That may be partly attributable to the fact that I shrunk it pretty badly in the wash, but still.
I will not post anything too embarrassing about you online. I definitely will not mention that horribly disgusting thing you did that first time we took you out in public as a newborn (which came very close to being the last time we took you out in public), and how much disinfectant was used to clean up afterward.
If I can keep all of these promises, I believed you'll grow up to be a strong, self assured, and independent woman, who is hopefully kind enough to return my phone calls once in a while. I love you.