Dear Future Child

Brazil Where it all began 1990's

1993

Where it all actually began 

(At least for me).

I was born on a Friday in a relatively small but well-enough equipped hospital near our home, in the early 90s, Brazil. The child of working-class parents - both under 19.

I was premature just under 7 months (or 30 weeks along) and according to the doctors, for no reason whatsoever other than the fact that I was ready.

I want to say that this sense of urgency (or impatience) from birth perhaps says more about me than anything else in this book, but that would be a digression and definitely a conversation for another time.

I was tiny. The harder outer part of my nails had not yet grown. I had no eyebrows either. The doctors told my mum to prepare herself and be patient as I likely would have to stay in intensive care and not eat.

Boy were they wrong. Apparently, they cleaned me up and brought me back and I was ready. I was hungry and perfectly formed. I was small, I was there before anyone expected, but I was ready.

My mom tells the story that next to us there was a boy, born at the right time around 40 weeks who cried a lot and refused to eat. He was quite a big baby, and conventionally born at the 'right time' per society's standards.

The point that I'm trying to make, and your first lesson Dear Future Child, is that there is no right time.

You do you, and when the time comes to do what you need to do, you'll know it.

Don't be afraid to act. You got this shit.

1995

Stubbornness

I owe much of my being comfortable in my own stubbornness (or my own skin as others call it), to the love and encouragement given to me by my family. Especially my mum and uncle.

During a particularly difficult part of her story, my mom moved back to her home town and took a flat share with her older brother - your great uncle and my godfather. As a single mom, she had to work full time, so I was enrolled into a nursery where I'd stay Monday - Friday from 7 am till 7 pm.

This early exposure to a stimulating and educational environment and increased interaction with others accelerated my development, communication and confidence. Which is how we find ourselves on a particular Saturday morning sat by the side of the road at not even 3.

The way they tell the story I was recovering from chickenpox and feeling particularly grouchy and unable to properly sleep. My uncle bless his heart, took me for a drive hoping it would put me back to sleep. He strapped me in and began driving. I was not having it and took my seatbelt right off.

Thus began, our battle of wills.

"Nat, put your seat belt back on."

"No."

"Do not make me stop this car, put your seat belt on right now."

"No I don't want to."

"Right, I'm pulling over, put your seat belt on or get out of the car."

He said pulling the car over, at which point I replied...

"Fine," and took myself off, sitting my little two-year-old tush on the curb.

He sat there for a minute slightly stunned and half amused by my understanding and subsequent choice, before asking me back in.

"Nathalia, what are you doing? Get back into the car."

"No,  I want mummy!" I replied with all the outrage a two-year-old can muster.

"I am calling your mother."

"I won't leave here you can't make me"

He obviously called my mom. In the end, he said sorry, and I said sorry got back into the car and we went on our merry way.

Why am I telling you this you ask? Well, if we take the principle that your early narratives define part of who you are today, this shows me a narrative that I will always be grateful for.

Because by using their words, they showed and taught me how to use mine.

They did not crush my spirit, opting instead to explain what I had to do, and I in turn (eventually) did it.

I was not diminished, and I was not ignored. I was tiny but mighty, I may have only been a little girl, but I was heard.

I hope Dear Future Child, that when the time comes, we have the wisdom to always do the same for you.