family business.

Dear Bable, [pronounced just how you’d think—to rhyme with “table”]

Before this turns into some absurd family secret, let me say this: your daddy and I aren’t married. For better or worse, on a scale of one to wacko, this is pretty low on the weird-scale these days, but I need to address this, if only for myself.

We love each other and hope to be married by the time you read this [although, if you are anything like me, you will be reading in the very near future, obviously, you brainiac] and considered going the route of the shot-gun wedding, but we decided to hold off. I was spotted perhaps wearing a ring on my would-be wedding finger when I became extremely pregnant, I don’t know why I do these things [the answer to anything pregnancy-related and crazy will always be attributed to hormones], but I would like to be the first to tell you this is actually nothing to be ashamed of.

A family, to me, and to many who are not interested in or not able to be married, is a unit of people who love one another. This can be a family of friends, or a mom, a dad, and a baby, like us, or dads and a baby, or parents and pets, or a million other combinations. We are for sure a unit, Olly, whether or not we all have the same last name, and the binder in this case is you. Daddy will always be your daddy and I will always be your mama whether or not we are ever Mr. & Mrs Mommy & Daddy. And we will always love you, and in a very legitimate way. And that is all you, or anyone else, needs to know.

Love you,
Your Mama