Tina Fey's parent prayer. Very funny.

[BW]

But note, especially, paragraph 6. The reason I posted this.

A Mother’s Prayer for Her Child By Tina Fey

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor
Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws
the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut
her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats,
swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing
on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats,
using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on
country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in
parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or
anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral
Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of
balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something
where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually
fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design?
I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the
sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses
and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short
– a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long
and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the
misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign
for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of
Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab
in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not
have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I
may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once
exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is
leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will
realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this
for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each
generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will
forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”