To My Unborn Child

All our lives, from various angles, we have been advised to come first... To win and bring home the gold, to strike first, to race towards that promotion and opportunity...

To my unborn child, I tell you: come last, because in my eyes you will always be first. First above everything in my known existence.

Strike last, allowing you to understand your attacker's motives and agendas, naturally giving you the upper hand.

Run last, allowing you to keep running for the rest of your life. Gold, silver, and bronze come and go, but you will still remain, whilst their victory may potentially haunt them for years to come.

Be the last to speak, allowing yourself room to listen, soaking up useful information where available and discarding the trash where necessary.

Do not push towards that promotion. Instead, take your time to look around. Stop and smell the roses. Look upon the shoreline. Close your eyes and envision your potential decisions. Are you happy to go ahead? Then go ahead. If not, then don't.

Your father is 27 years of age as he writes this. Perhaps he will have more to say in the future, or perhaps less. The inevitable continuation of life's experiences will tell us more at a later time.