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My best friend is expecting her first baby. I'm pretty excited because the idea of mini versions of us running around together is pretty all-time.

Having your first baby is a big deal. And your bestie having her first baby is extra amazing because you get all the joy and cuddles of a delicious newborn bubble of squishiness to fall in love with, without the episiotomy. This pleases me.

On thinking about my BFF's upcoming life-changing event, there's so much I want to say to her. But sometimes when you want to say something so important, the words just don't come.

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So instead, I'm sharing with you (and her… SURPRISE!) an open letter with all the things I want to say but haven't... yet.

So here it goes.

My beautiful friend, you've got this.

I know you're worried. I know you're scared. All that lies before you right now is one big, amazing and terrifying mystery. You're wondering what kind of mother you're going to be and if you're going to be a good one. What I know, I know for sure is that you've got this.

Why? Well, a number of reasons.

You're going to be amazing.

I've seen you with my own children. Whereas you question yourself (like we all do), wondering whether you'll be a good mother, I have no doubt about it. With my children, you are kind, patient, loving and fun. You'll be all these things and so much more with your own. You have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. Your baby is the luckiest one.

Ask for my help. Seriously.

I want to tell you that when your baby arrives, you can ask for my help. I know you think that because I have three young children of my own, you can't. But I'm telling you that you can. If I can help, I will. I want to. Because I'm invested.

I want to tell you that when your baby arrives, you can ask for my advice.

But you don't have to take it.

I won't begrudge you finding your own way, I'll celebrate it. Because I'm invested.

I want to tell you to take every piece of advice that you are given, well-meaning or otherwise, with a grain of salt.

I am going to rock aunthood.

I want to tell you that I will love your baby. You know how you've loved mine? Each and every one of them? Even though we were both quite sure that neither of us even liked toddlers before I had them? Well, just like you've loved mine, I will love yours. Because I'm invested.

I want you to know that if I could be, I'd be walking the halls of the hospital while you're in labor—pacing, worried, excited. Drinking disgusting coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Wanting to be the first person who you and your husband introduce your little human to when he or she is born.

I want to, but I draw the line at hospital coffee. A girl is allowed to have standards! (I'll bring you the good stuff when I come by to visit, don't worry.)

I'm so proud of you.

I want you to know that no matter how you do it, I'll be proud of you. If you have an epidural. If you don't. If your baby sleeps well. If the baby doesn't. If you never complain about being exhausted. If you complain every single day. If you implement a routine or if you take each day as it comes and wing it.

I'll be proud of you no matter how you do it—no matter how well you cope, no matter how many times you feel like you're failing. Because you won't fail. Not in any way. And I'll be proud. Because I'm invested.

I'm not going anywhere.

I want to tell you that I am your family. I've never had a sister but I know that even if I did, I'd still like you better. I am in this for the long haul: my kids, your kids. Our kids. A family. Because I'm invested.

I want to tell you that if, given time, you feel like you need to move to be with your actual blood family, I will understand. I'll be half a heart without you, but I will understand. And I'll always be here. Because I'm invested.

I want to tell you that we will always be us. Hilarious, ridiculous, fabulous us. Clueless-quoting, boy-band-loving dreamers with secret shared Pinterest boards that no one needs to know about. Old enough to know better, but having too much fun to care.

There may be more to us now, but we can still be you and me.

So much about life is about to change for you. But one thing will remain the same. Us.

You're having a baby!

You've got this.

Love,

Your best friend

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Try this: Write down your name and those of your parents and then your children. Then locate each letter of each name on the keyboard and note if it is located on the left or right side (use T, G and B as the middle line).

There should be more left-side letters in yours and your parents' names and more right-side letters in each of your children's names. Weird, huh? That's what some scientists thought, too, so they set out to determine why and discovered a similar pattern across five languages.

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