You’d have to be a real butthead not to know that Bey and Jay had a kid this weekend. I haven’t seen her yet, but Solange texted me a photo. She was being a bitch about sending it because she was afraid I might leak it, but then I threatened to leak a different photo that involves her eating Wendy’s…at a Wendy’s…about three weeks ago. I was there to pass out kale smoothies (an altruistic pastime I like to perform about once a month, for my nerves) and sure enough, there Solange was in a corner, wearing a huge hat and sunnies with a Frosty in one hand and a second Frosty in the other. Nice try, heifer. All that aside, baby Blue is GORGEOUS for a child that looks like Jay-Z.
So, I wanted to share something with all of my psychos.
This is the letter I wrote to Blue Ivy and had messengered over to the hospital this morning, along with an Hermes baby blanket.
Your life is going to be a bit overwhelming at times and you may even wonder why you had to be born into such a high-stress situation. When you learn to speak, you’ll ask your dad what his fucking problem is approximately 65 times a day, and you’ll beg your mom to stop wearing couture to dinner because it only makes you feel fat, even if you’re not fat, which you won’t be. Please don’t be fat.
You’ll feel like boys (or girls…it would be so fab if you’re a lesbo–just saying) can’t see past your last name and you’ll have trust issues. Sometimes you’ll make a nest out of last season’s ready-to-wear, curl up inside of it like a dead baby bird, and scream-cry. That’s like, when you really want to cry but you can’t, so you just scream and gasp and breathe really hard until a staff member hears you and comes running.
But through all of this, through all of the ups and downs of being under such high scrutiny at all times, remember that there’s only one person in this crazy, fucked up world that understands–and I mean really understands. And it’s not Gwyneth, you fucking idiot. It’s me, Babe Walker.
Ok, that’s all for now, I have to go take a nap. My wrist is, like, spasming. I haven’t used a pen for this long since second grade. Can’t wait to meet you, I guess.