more things i'd tell my daughter

valentina rose, and a lesson in vulnerability

“Ok my first question - do we know who the father is?” My aunt asks me through an emergency FaceTime session. 

She can’t stop laughing, and I forget that talking about having a potential baby at almost 30 years old is really nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Sorry - I can’t stop laughing because I’m picturing you walking into that bar with a baby stroller.” 

On the heels of me publicly announcing that I want a summer bf, and on the heels of Peter Pan reposting another girl in his stories (don’t worry - I grilled him on that), we were hit with a little pregnancy scare.   

Part of me was excited, to be completely honest. I had this vision in my mind. I’d be the cool, single mom in Rome who wears silk dresses and pushes around a baby stroller. The baby sits beside me at a café while I sip my cappuccino and the owner brings out a tiny pastry for her (can babies eat pastries?) 

Valentina Rose and I walk around Zara Home. Well, I push her around Zara Home in a stroller and I’d teach her how to say “it’s an investment”, “the white sheets, mom”, “don’t forget a candle”.

I’d get her to smell all of them before picking out one for her room, too. 

“Emily, this is not a romantic comedy” my friend brings me back down to earth from my main character moment.

“I just would love to have a built in best friend.”

“But you also deserve to have a partner to help you with that.”