To my hypothetical future child
I thought about it for a while and I wondered what would happen if for example I get into a car accident that totally messes up my brain, and so I end up with amnesia and hence a total personality makeover, and then this personality change makes me like babies?
AND THEN *insert Jaws music here (in case you don't know what Jaws music is, YES I MEAN YOU PEOPLE BORN IN THE NINETIES, check this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWLO4acMTCM)*
This child happens to stumble upon this blog and reads the previous post *GASP*
So, Dear Hypothetical Future Child,
Firstly, I hope you have clicked the link leading to the Jaws theme song, because this is an awesome piece of music, and you wouldn't be an awesome child if you don't like it. (N.B. I refuse to have any child who is not awesome).
Secondly, I think the intro to the post explains it all. My second personality, post car accident, apparently loves kids, so you have nothing to worry about. I might snap back any time to my old personality, and I know this might cause you some anxiety (here is your first lesson, get used to it, life is tough). However, I assure you that your life is not in danger. In fact, my first personality is a very rational one, and I am going to assume that my second personality is a very emotional one, hence you. So, even if I don't like babies, expect a good and fair treatment, and you will still be awesome.
So, other than the occasional bouts of depression, a tiny existential crisis and a general lack of life, my first personality is a bundle of joy, just like you, you little bugger, awwww! (detect the sarcasm, or else you are not my child, get a DNA test quickly).
However, in the event that there was no car accident, no personality change and no amnesia, I suggest you consult your mother, future me, on why you were brought into the world. I am sure, she has a valid reason. Maybe you are a post-apocalypse child, and there is a need to repopulate the earth. Then, it would be a survival thing, and the continuance of the species depends on my pudgy, existentially messed-up, child (the earth is doomed, I tell you).
The pre-accident, younger version of your mother
Now go away, and let your mother read the rest of the letter.
I AM SERIOUS. YOU LET GO OF THE COMPUTER RIGHT NOW, YOUNG WOMAN/MAN.
OK, now that we are alone.
WHAT THE F***?